Ice Storm
by Maddie
Summary: A freak ice storm and the Kazon turn a routine away mission into a life threatening situation for Paris and Kes.
1. Default Chapter

  
**Author's Note: **This story takes place early in the Voyager series and is set some time after "Investigations" but before "Basics, Part 2". Originally printed in the hardcopy fanzine _We'll Always Have Paris, _published by Unicorn Press, 1997, this is the first time it has appeared on the net. The usual disclaimers apply. Paramount owns the _Voyager_ universe and the characters of Paris and Kes. Melchor and the plot are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism, always welcome.   
  
  


ICE STORM 

by Maddie 

  
  
  


Jerking his head upward with a start, he shook the fog from his mind, then blinked in the brilliant sunshine. Disoriented, he closed his eyes and lay back on the warm stone wondering what had startled him awake. Then he remembered, it had been a deep rumbling sound. His eyes shot open and he rolled his head to the left where she still sat, meticulously cataloguing plant samples, just as she had been doing when he had drifted. 

"Awake?" Kes asked, not looking up from her work, her delicate fingers, flitting across the padd in her hand. The corners of her mouth twitched as laughter threatened to engulf her features, her eyes twinkling. 

"Uh..." Brilliant, some part of his mind told him, brilliant repartee, but he could not quite get his voice to cooperate. "Yeah." He finally managed. The flat, broad rock he lay on was baked warm by the midday sun, and despite its hardness, felt incredibly comfortable. He rolled over to face the young Ocampa. "I think. Did I fall asleep?" he asked, his voice rising in the annoying way it did when he was caught off guard and embarrassed. 

Then Kes did laugh, her face alight with impish glee. "Yes," she said through the giggles. "Right in mid sentence." 

"Uh..." he mumbled again. "What were we talking about?" 

Kes barely controlled her laughter. "You had asked if we had found anything interesting, and I was very excited about the medicinal potential of some of the plant samples we collected, as well as their food value. Somewhere around sentence three, you...fell asleep. Rather loudly." 

"Loudly?" 

"Yes, Tom Paris. Loudly." Again Kes battled the giggles edging into her voice. "Did anyone ever tell you, you snore?" 

Paris rolled to his back and closed his eyes again. "Not in the recent half century?" he answered blearily. 

"Well, your secret is safe with me." Kes said. 

Reluctant to sit up, yet, not wanting to get caught napping by any other members of the away team Paris dragged his eyes open. Kes had continued to work as they talked, reducing the pile of plant samples in front of her to data in her tricorder. Sunshine glinted off her hair, tangling in the stands of fine gold and shimmering like a mystic halo. Sitting cross-legged in the secluded glade in which they had paused to rest, surrounded by the delicate greens and dappled shadows, she looked for all the world like the fairies and sprites in the story tapes he had read as a child. Her delicate upswept ears and pixy features, her petite form, all lending credence to the fantasy. 

Paris found himself smiling. 

"We're not here for a picnic, Paris." 

Kes jumped, startled by the intruding voice, her eyes widened, and a faint blush colored her cheeks. 

**** 

Kes felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and burn momentarily hot, then realized she had nothing to be embarrassed about. She stared up at the intruder who had emerged from the underbrush behind Paris, then let out a soft sigh. It was only Lieutenant Melchor, the mission specialist for the away team, a member of the Starfleet crew, he had originally trained as an engineer, but was also a very talented botanist who had proven invaluable on more than one foraging expedition. She smiled and started to speak, to explain to Melchor that it had been her suggestion to rest, when she caught the look on Paris' face. It was a mask she had not seen him wear in her presence recently, the one he had worn the first time she had seen him, standing in the background ebb and flow on board _Voyager_, observing what transpired around him with detached interest colored with cynical amusement. The veiled blue eyes, and smirking half grin, were expressions she had come to associate with the "old" Tom Paris. 

Before she could speak, Paris pushed lazily to a half-sitting position making no effort to stand. Melchor circled the flat rock on which the pilot reclined to stand so they faced one another. Kes could feel the unexpressed tension in the air, see it on the faces of the two men before her, and read the unspoken confrontation in Paris' insubordinate posture. Leaning casually back on one elbow, carelessly flicking a tiny pebble from the stone surface in front of him, his eyes challenged Melchor as his silence did. 

"Is there a problem, Lieutenant?" Paris questioned, his phrasing an intentionally laconic drawl. 

Kes could sense the sudden stiffening in Melchor's posture, though his face reflected no emotion. 

"You didn't answer my hail," Melchor said evenly. "Now I understand why." 

Paris laughed, shook his head, then lay back down, his eyes closed. "You have an overactive imagination, Merritt." 

At the casual use of his first name, Melchor's face did flush with anger. He resents the familiarity, or perhaps, Kes thought, he prefers to have people, Paris in particular, defer to his rank. 

"That fact remains that you did not respond, and in doing so might have seriously jeopardized your safety, along with that of your partner, and myself, since I had to come looking for you." 

"The fact remains," Paris said sharply, sitting up and facing Melchor, "that we weren't hailed." 

"The channel was open. I placed the hail myself." 

"But we didn't receive it," Kes intervened, attempting to diffuse the situation. "We really didn't. What did you need to tell us?" 

Melchor turned sharply, his voice controlled, but the color in his face rising. 

"This discussion is between Lieutenant Paris and myself." 

Paris came quickly to his feet, stepping close to Melchor, but keeping his hands carefully by his sides. "The lady asked a question." Paris' inflection was light, but his demeanor backed his apparently frivolous tone with a belligerent attitude that only a blind man would fail to comprehend. "It would be polite to answer." 

Melchor did not respond, and the ensuing the silence was taut with anger, drawn thinner as each second passed until it would surely reach a breaking point. The two men stood face to face, within inches of each other, but not touching, and Kes held her breath, not wanting to fuel the obvious resentment. 

Finally, Melchor retreated a single step, and although neither man altered his posture in any other way, the 'giving in' was accomplished. Melchor took a single deep breath then turned to Kes, anger still coloring his voice and his manner, though his words were properly phrased. He spoke directly to her, ignoring Paris. "We've received word from _Voyager_. Their surface scans indicate a large concentration of broad leafed plants similar to specimens belonging to the Order _Aramaecae_. We've had some luck extracting a chematotrophin from the roots of like plants that might be of value in prolonging the health of the gel packs." 

"I'm familiar with the studies you've been doing. They're quiet brilliant," Kes added, gently nudging Melchor away from his angry encounter with Paris now that she had him talking. "Where exactly are the plants located?" 

"Approximately one point five kilometers south of here. A very large stand. Since you seem most adept at cataloguing this type of sample, I would like you to proceed there." 

Kes, nodded, then looked past Melchor to where Paris now stood, arms crossed on his chest, silent but wary. She sensed he wanted to ask a question, and guessed its nature. "I'm still puzzled as to why we did not receive either your transmission or the one from _Voyager,_" Kes said. "The ship should be broadcasting on a broad, open channel." 

Melchor shrugged, "The solar flare activity we noted when we took orbit has increased dramatically. Communications are all but impossible, surface scans are becoming indistinct, which is why they wanted us to investigate from here, and transporters are also having problems locking on to surface personnel because of the irradiated particles in the ionosphere. They used a tightly focused comm channel to contact the primary mission shuttle." 

"Is there any immediate danger to the away team." Paris asked, his voice cautiously neutral, but leaving no doubt his word was final in any matter concerning crew safety. 

Still not looking directly at Paris, Melchor answered, "_Voyager_ didn't think so. Shuttle performance will not be affected. Surface radiation levels are also stable. We're only having problems with communications and to a limited extent, sensors and transporters." 

"Any additional orders from the Captain?" Paris asked. 

Melchor cast a sidelong glance at the helmsman, the spoke directly to Kes. "No other changes in our original schedule. We plan on leaving the planet's surface approximately one hour before dark." 

"Then we have plenty of time to investigate that stand of _Aramaecae_." Kes said, finding it difficult to hide her enthusiasm. Besides, she thought, better to ease these two apart before they start sparring again. Gathering up her tricorder, she took a step between the two men. 

"Make sure the other members of the away team are aware of the communications problem," Paris said. 

Melchor nodded once, before he turned to leave, Kes saw an odd expression pass over his face. She was not sure if it was relief, or satisfaction, and she felt a sudden chill of apprehension, as swift and fleeting an impression as the touch of a cool breeze. Then the feeling, and Melchor were gone. Turning to Paris, she found him staring at the patch of underbrush into which Melchor had disappeared. 

"He's good at appearing and disappearing," Kes said, trying to recapture the comfortable, relaxed interlude they had shared before Melchor's intrusion. 

"Like a snake." Paris still wore the same expression he had when Melchor first appeared, removed, yet wary. 

"What is it, Tom?" 

He did not answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a sarcastic imitation of a smile. "Long story, Kes." 

Reaching out she lay her hand on his arm, "Its a long walk." Turning him, she started out in the direction Melchor had indicated. "I can listen." 

**** 

Paris followed as Kes passed effortlessly through the underbrush, her sense of direction uncanny and unerring. He wondered how a species that had spent most of the last five centuries buried underground in rigidly controlled environmental conditions could possess such an innate ability to deal with the natural environment. They had traveled a little more than half a kilometer when the shrubs and low growth thinned and Kes slowed her pace, allowing him to walk beside her. As they walked she had continued to collect and catalogue plant samples, the soft bleep and whir of her tricorder the only unnatural sound. 

"So?" she asked at last, breaking the silence. 

Paris shrugged, looking down into her concerned blue eyes and feeling decidedly uncomfortable. Kes did not need to know what Melchor thought of him, and vice versa. "It really was nothing," he said smiling his most disarming grin. "A misunderstanding." 

He felt Kes' hand on his arm, the slight squeeze of her fingers. Then she stopped, and pulled him to a stop as well. "You forget, Tom, I may be very good at observation, but I'm also an empath, even if only a latent one. What I saw...what I _felt_ was not 'nothing'. Melchor's resentment runs deep." 

"Yes," Paris agreed. "But that isn't so different, now is it?" 

He saw the sadness shadow across her face, darkening the clear blue of her eyes and turning her mouth downward. "I thought things had gotten better since...the incident with Michael Jonas?" 

Paris shook his head, a sardonic half smile creasing his handsome features. _I had hoped they would,_ he thought silently, aware he was doing a poor job of hiding his feelings from Kes. The concern in her face was more cutting than Melchor's attitude or words. "Some people will never stop thinking of me as an outsider, Kes. It doesn't matter what I do or say." _So I've stopped trying to convince them otherwise,_ he added to himself. 

"Melchor is one of those." Kes asked, her hand on his arm tightening slightly. 

Paris nodded. 

"Tell me." Kes eyebrows drew together, her expression that of an old fashioned school marm, stern and demanding. Paris was not going to get out of telling her that easily. 

With a sigh, Paris shook his head again, then smiled, a warm genuine smile, touched by Kes' heartfelt concern. 

"It goes back to the Alpha Quadrant, Kes. Back to when I first came aboard _Voyager_. Things were different. Attitudes were different. It wasn't Maquis versus Starfleet then, it was more like Starfleet versus Tom Paris." _With rare exceptions,_ he thought. _Like Harry._ "Everyone seemed to know who I was and what I'd done. Some were more blatant about expressing their dislike. Doctor Fitzgerald, Cavit, even Stadi. Others were more subtle, but the feeling was there. I was the outsider, an 'observer' and nothing more. Forever watching what I couldn't have." Paris cut off the words, stemming the bitterness, that never quite went away, the burden he would never completely shed, as long as someone remembered the Alpha Quadrant. He did not want that to sour his relationship with Kes. A relationship he had come to cherish, even though, he was, once again, all too much the outsider, observing what he could never possess. 

The touch of Kes' fingers on his cheek, a feather light brush of fingertips, yet as jolting as a phaser on full stun, brought him back. She still waited patiently. 

"Melchor," he said simply, as thought the name itself was explanation. "I had a hard time figuring him out. He's one of those people who fade into the background. You never know they're there. Never know what they're thinking." 

"He's Starfleet." Kes commented when he paused again. 

"Yeah. A good 'fleeter. Steady. Dependable. But nothing outstanding." _The kind of loyal, unquestioning crewman Dad would have loved,_ he thought. _A model officer. Never out of line. And never brilliant._

"A follower." Kes said again. 

Paris nodded. "That's how I always read him. He was one of Cavit's puppies. Liked what Cavit liked. Disliked what Cavit disliked." 

"And Cavit disliked you?" Kes forehead creased with concern. 

"Look, Kes," Paris smiled, trying to lighten her dismal mood. "That's all ancient history. This is the Delta Quadrant. Cavit is no longer here." 

"But the resentment and anger are." 

Paris cocked his head to one side, took a deep breath, and continued. "I don't know. Maybe he blames me for Michael Jonas' death." He tried to make the statement sound flat, emotionless, as though the possibility was of no concern. The last thing he wanted was for Kes to worry. As soon as he had said the words he knew he had made a mistake. 

Kes stepped back, "But you had nothing to do with that. Neelix..." 

"Yeah, Neelix may have been the one who pushed Jonas into the warp core, but I'm the one who pushed until Jonas' activities were exposed. Neelix just came in on the tail end of things. Wrong place at the wrong time." 

"I didn't know Melchor and Jonas were friends." 

"Surprised me too," Paris said. "Seems they were extremely close friends. Jonas never struck me as the charismatic type, but Melchor was stuck to him like an old coon hound to its master." 

Kes walked a few paces away, then turned to face Paris, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her body stiff with tension. "Do you think he knew what Jonas was doing? Transmitting information to the Kazon." 

Paris shrugged. "Melchor was too loyal to Starfleet to be a spy. And in all honesty, I doubt he had the imagination. But, I don't know. I just know he isn't too fond of me. Probably wishes Neelix's allegation that I was the spy was the truth. " 

Stepping closer to Kes, Paris took her firmly by the shoulders. "Now let's forget him. Enjoy what's left of the day. We may not see planetside again for weeks." 

Kes smiled, then nodded. Taking out her tricorder she slipped free of his grip and quickly scanned the area. "That stand of _Aramaecae_ is just on top of a slight rise. A few minutes more in this direction." 

Turning, the Ocampa moved off in the direction they had been walking, her step light and apparently carefree, caught again in the joy of exploring. Paris watched for a moment, envious of her ability to find pleasure so easily in simple things. He tried to convince himself the incident with Melchor was a passing irritation, something that might never go away, but need not hang like a dark cloud over his every move. He was not very successful. Breaking into a dog trot, he jogged after the receding back of his companion. 

****   



	2. The Calm Before

****

Kes heard the soft crackle of footfalls on the dry leaves littering the ground, and resisted the urge to turn around, concentrating instead on the readings she was taking, pretending her heart did not lurch each time he came close. She did not want him to see how upset she had been by the encounter with Melchor. Paris had brushed off the incident, but she knew it had bothered him more than his casual manner belied. Although she could not read his thoughts, she sensed his emotions with uncanny accuracy, an ability she had acquired as their relationship developed, and which had intensified when she had realized how deeply he cared for her. The same emotional affinity existed between her and Neelix, and also, to some extent, with Captain Janeway. 

But it was Melchor, more than Paris, who had disturbed her. His animosity was almost palpable, focused directly at Tom, and so intense, the emotion was painful even to her immature senses. Mixed with the anger was a great sense of loss and pain that twisted the anger into a smoldering rage. Paris did not appear to feel threatened, in fact he seemed resigned to Melchor's attitude, yet it made her strangely uneasy, even fearful. It was the fear she wished to hide from Paris. He had dealt with the reactions of his fellow crewmen far longer than she had, and she knew she must trust his judgment in this case. If he felt there was no danger, that the anger would eventually fade, then she must calm her own inner misgivings. 

Carefully schooling her features so that none of her apprehension showed in her expression, she turned to Paris. He stood quietly behind her, hands behind his back, the rate of his breathing slightly elevated, his demeanor relaying a patient, yet expectant boredom. 

"Just a few more feet," she said brightly continuing to monitor the read-out from her tricorder. "The readings are very encouraging. I'm already detecting high levels of a chematotrophin very similar to the one Melchor has isolated. This particular organic chemical actually seems to increase the flow of electrons through the gel packs by reducing resistance, thereby prolonging the viability of the packs, by eliminating some of the wear." 

She looked up from her tricorder just as Paris stifled another yawn. Looking rather sheepish, he cocked his head with a 'can't help it' expression on his face. 

Kes laughed. "I'm sorry, Tom. This probably makes no sense to you at all." 

"Actually, it makes perfect sense. It just isn't very interesting." 

"Why do they make you come on these away teams anyway, Tom? Your talents could be put to better use. I could have flown this mission myself. It was completely routine and would have been good experience for me." 

"You know we all have to take our turn as part of the foraging missions." Paris appeared to be forcing his best innocent look. 

"But I've noticed you have a way of always being absent when your duty rotation comes around, and your place is taken by another crewman." Kes thought of trying to look stern, but doubted she could keep a straight face long enough. 

"Really?" he asked, eyebrows arching upward in mock surprise. 

"Really," Kes answered. "So what's your secret. Replicator rations for bribes. Holodeck programs in exchange for taking your place. Hmm? And why didn't it work this time?" 

Paris cleared his throat, neither acknowledging nor denying her allegation. 

Kes shook her head and smiled with exasperation. "Tom, when will you ever learn. So who caught you? Chakotay?" 

"Caught? Me? Never." Paris grinned. 

"Tom." Kes found his grin both charming and disarming. "Obviously _that_ tactic doesn't work with Chakotay," she said, sensing she had guessed correctly. Paris was apparently doing penance for his past avoidance of this particular task. She felt the urge to verbally chastise him. It was one thing to earn Chakotay's anger with his antics when he was working under direct orders of the Captain, but continuing to do so after he had apparently been vindicated was tempting fate. 

As though aware of her thoughts, Paris brought his hand out from behind his back. In it he held a tiny red flower plucked from the forest undergrowth. "Don't worry, Kes. Believe it or not, I volunteered for this one. Figured I would get to spend the day in your company." 

Before Kes could react, Paris stepped closer and tucked the blossom behind her ear. "There, see, I do know something about the proper use of the local flora. Makes being part of the Nut and Berry Brigade worth the boredom." 

"Nut and Berry Brigade?" Kes asked, laughter creeping into her voice once more. 

Paris held out his empty hands, palms upward in a gesture of futile resignation. "That's what some of our crewmen have dubbed the away teams that go on these foraging expeditions." 

Kes smiled and was about to ask which crewman, though she suspected she knew the answer to that question, when a shudder passed through her. 

Frowning with concern Paris, stepped closer, "Kes, is something wrong. You look like someone just walked over your grave." 

Kes nodded, puzzled by the unfamiliar expression. "Just a cold draft. Very sudden. I was chilled." Kes felt herself shiver again. The rapid drop in temperature, seemed particularly sharp as the cool air wrapped its chilling fingers around skin still warm from the sun. "Didn't you notice?" 

Paris shook his head. "No." 

_Of course he wouldn't,_ Kes admonished herself. His uniform was far warmer than the short sleeved tunic she wore, and she had felt the cold caress of wind on the bare skin of her arms. "It took me by surprise," she said. "There it is again. Is there supposed to be a change in the weather?" 

"_Voyager_ would have alerted us of any major changes--" Paris stopped in mid sentence. 

"But communications--" Kes continued his statement. 

"Have you been monitoring atmospheric conditions at all?" 

Kes shook her head. "No. There was no need. My tricorder was set for bio scan." 

**** 

Paris noticed the change around them, not as a drop in temperature, but a shift in the feel and scent of the air. The warm, musty fragrance of the dropped leaves and rich earth beneath their feet, the soft fragrance of flowers and spicy scent of living foliage, gave way to the sharp, metallic tang of the wind before a summer storm. The atmosphere seemed charged, on the verge of exploding, and now he, too, felt the cooling. 

He looked at Kes, her face suddenly pale in the golden light that still filtered through the broken canopy overhead. Her eyes had widened with concern, and she passed her tricorder to him. Scanning the area in a three hundred and sixty degree arc around their current position, he stopped, facing north, unwilling to trust the instrument reading. 

"Paris to Voyager," he snapped, as his hand slapped the communicator badge on his chest. There was no answer, just the steady hiss of static from the open comm line, occasionally punctuated by a crack of stronger interference. "Paris to Melchor." Again, no response. "Maybe if we get clear of this overgrowth," he said briefly, then without further explanation, he headed toward the rocky outcrop that rose from the forest floor ahead of them. Scrambling up its surface, aware that Kes was matching him step for step, he reached the top, faced north, and felt as though he faced the furies themselves. 

The northern sky churned black with heavy clouds, roiling towards them with unstoppable energy. He could taste the ionized sharpness in the air, feel the rapid cooling around him. In the distance rain sheeted downward, cascading across the land in shimmering curtains. 

"Paris to Melchor," he repeated. And this time there was a response, an inaudibly garbled message, but definitely a voice. Paris could only make out two words, words he didn't need to be told. 'ice storm.' 

"Melchor," Paris spoke as distinctly as he could, knowing his attempt was futile even as he spoke. "Warn the other away teams. Clear the planet's surface before the storm endangers the shuttles. Kes and I will attempt to reach your position, but don't wait. We'll find shelter if necessary. Do you hear." 

Again there was a garbled response. Looking once more to the north, gauging with a pilot's senses the speed of the approaching storm, Paris glanced again at his companion. "We gotta move and fast," he said. 

She nodded without speaking, and he led a headlong dash down the side of the rock formation, then hit the ground running. 

**** 


	3. Shelter

****

They had covered barely a kilometer when the storm's leading edge overtook their position. Though Kes had no trouble keeping up with Paris, she did not refuse the hand he reached back to her, was grateful for the firm clasp of his fingers around hers, pulling her forward, though she needed no encouragement to move faster. The wind driven rain lashed her bare arms like the needle spray of a cold shower, and despite the fact that they were running as fast as the undergrowth would permit, she felt the cold penetrating her clothing. A misty fog rose around them as the icy water struck the humid forest floor, but the fog soon gave way to torrents of rainfall that soaked her to the skin, trickling down her face and into her eyes, so she could barely see. 

When they were still more than a kilometer from the shuttle landing site, the rain turned, with perverse suddenness, to a mixture of sleet and freezing rain, a rude and frightening contrast to the warmth that had encircled them just an hour before. She barely remembered passing the isolated glade where they had stopped to rest earlier in the day, or the woodland they had explored before that. With head down, she followed Paris blindly, trusting his sense of direction, knowing he would get them to the shuttle in time. So intent was she on keeping pace with him that she slammed into his back when he stopped abruptly. 

Stepping to his side, she squinted into the icy torrent. They had reached the landing area. She recognized the trees and rocks she had so carefully used to memorize the position several hours ago. She felt Paris' arm around her shoulder drawing her closer, and she tried not to shiver as she realized they were too late. The shuttle was gone, and there was no sign it had ever been there. 

"They left," she said through chattering teeth, then felt foolish for stating the painfully obvious. "The storm isn't that bad. They could have waited." Looking up she wasn't sure what she hoped Paris would say, but she was startled by the grimness of his expression. 

When he returned her look, his face quickly softened, but his voice contained an unusual urgency. "I did tell Melchor to leave," he said simply. "I guess he was following orders." 

"We were here in less than fifteen minutes. He could have waited. _You_ would have waited for him." 

"That doesn't matter." Paris pulled out the tricorder he had kept when they started running. "What matters is that we find shelter from this storm. A cave, or heavy growth of large trees or the bank of a stream." 

"The rocks. Where we spotted the storm. Maybe there's a cave or crevasse in them." Kes had begun to shiver uncontrollably, her limbs shaking so violently she could barely stand. She was glad Paris had kept the tricorder. She doubted she could have held on to it. 

Paris nodded. "We'll have to try. Are you up to another run." 

Kes nodded, no longer able to control the quivering of her muscles or stop her chattering teeth long enough to answer. She was losing body heat rapidly. They had to find shelter soon. 

She said nothing, but took Paris' proffered hand and allowed him to lead her back into the once friendly woods that in a brief breath of time had become a nightmare of wind and ice and bone numbing cold. 

**** 

Paris paused to take yet another tricorder reading. Ahead lay at area dotted with rocky outcroppings, large enough, he hoped to provide shelter. Yes, his heart lifted with a slight glimmer of hope. That was it. Approximately half a kilometer to the north. It read like a small cave. He hoped it was. 

He felt Kes sagging against him. Her fragile weight a frightening burden. He held her up with his free arm, suddenly aware that she was no longer shivering. Looking down, he expected to see her look back, but her eyes had closed, her lips were a deathly blue. Ice clung to the matted strands of her hair, to her clothing, and to the shriveled remains of a red flower still tangled behind her ear. His own hands had gone numb from exposure to the cold wetness of the storm. Lowering the Ocampa to the ground, he fumbled with the tricorder, switching to bioscan and passing the instrument over Kes' still form. Her core body temperature had dropped an alarming eight degrees since the storm erupted over them barely half an hour before. Paris knew now it was a race against time. He hoped there truly was a cave ahead, because without shelter, Kes would not survive. 

**** 

Paris struggled up the slight incline, Kes's delicate weight a noticeable burden as his feet and hands grew numb with cold and maintaining his footing on the icy rocks became increasingly difficult. The cave he had detected was a few hundred feet higher on the slope. Wind driven sleet lashed his unprotected face, stung his eyes, and crunched as it built up underfoot. 

If he didn't find the cave soon, he would have to take another tricorder reading. That would mean laying Kes down on the freezing ground, increasing her chances of succumbing to the hypothermia that had already robbed her of consciousness. But if he didn't find shelter soon that wouldn't matter, because he did not think she would survive the elements much longer. He cursed silently, damning his own lack of knowledge. How did Ocampa physiology cope with low temperatures. Accustomed to a rigidly controlled, temperate climate of the underground shelter the Caretaker had provided, they were slight of build, without the mass needed to tolerate excesses of cold. He knew how a human reacted, but what of Kes? She seemed so frail. She might already have suffered irreparable damage. 

Lifting his head against the cutting ice, he squinted into the gloom. The world, that had been sunshine, warmth and blue sky mere hours ago, had become a demon made of gray sky, rain pelting and lifeless rock. But he thought he saw a darker blotch in the grayness, perhaps it was the mouth of the cave. Shifting his burden, he tried to increase his pace, took two steps forward, then found himself sliding downward, struggling to maintain his balance. He came to a jarring halt as his knee struck a protruding rock. Cursing silently, he rose gingerly to his feet, ignoring the throbbing ache in his knee as he ignored the lack of sensation in his feet. Dragging himself forward, he inched up the slope toward the beckoning shadow. It had to be a cave, he repeated to himself. Had to be. 

It _was_ a cave of sorts, a depression in the rock barely six feet deep, and just high enough for him to stand in if he stooped, but it was shelter from the driving ice if the wind did not change direction. He lay Kes on the cold stone floor, alarmed by the bluish tint to her lips. He had to get her dry and warm and he had to do it fast. Glancing around the cave, he found the floor covered with a litter of twigs and dry leaves. Fire starter, he thought, fighting to keep his own chaotic thoughts in order. He just needed something else to keep it going once he got it started. 

Taking a deep breath, he dashed out into the freezing rain one more time. Raking gusts of wind pounded the ice against him with increasing fury. He had seen a tree below. If he could find a few broken limbs dry enough to ignite with the tinder on the cave floor, he might be able to build a small fire. Crashing blindly down the slope he had just struggled up, he worked with frantic speed, collecting as many pieces of wood as he would carry. Urgency pushed him forward. He knew Kes would not survive much longer. Dragging himself back up the rocky hill, he deposited his armload inside the cave mouth, quickly checked Kes' pulse, then dashed back out in search of anything he could use to block the mouth of the cave and preserve their limited heat.   
Most of the vegetation had been pounded flat and coated with ice, but he was able to drag an second armload of the tall, distinctive grasses that marked the lower slopes back to the cave. Encrusted with ice, the weight might be enough to withstand the wind. He fell twice, unable to keep his footing on the treacherous slope, striking his knee again the second time he fell. He ignored the throbbing as he fought the final few yards to the cave. 

Dropping to his knees inside, he crawled to Kes' side. The Ocampa was till unconscious, her clothing soaked, her skin clammy. His own hands were stiff with cold. 

"I've got to get you warm and dry," he said to his unresponsive companion. 

Unfastening the front of his own uniform, he stripped off his gray turtleneck. It was still fairly dry, having been protected by the tough, slightly waterproof, material of his uniform jumpsuit. He shivered as the chill air struck his skin, and quickly pulled his jumpsuit back over his shoulders. It felt clammy against his bare skin. 

"Neelix will kill me if he ever finds out about this," Paris muttered again, half to himself. With fumbling fingers, he began to unfasten Kes' tunic peeling the soaked garment off, along with the layers underneath. It was like undressing a rag doll, a rag doll that was wet to the skin. He rubbed her briskly with his dry shirt, stimulating the circulation in her limbs. Then he slipped the turtle neck over her head and arms, breathing a more relaxed breath once she was clothed in something dry again. Clothed, but not out of danger. "Yeah," he said aloud, "Neelix may kill me if he finds out I stripped his lady, but he'd definitely kill me if I let her die." 

Working frantically, Paris scraped together a pile of dry leaves and tinder, placed a few smaller sticks on top, then the heavier wood. This has got to work, he thought. One thing he did remember from his father's survival course was how to start a fire. He remembered starting several, usually by unorthodox means, more to aggravate his father, than to please him, and to show him some things could be done better if you ignored the proper procedures. Now, he just needed a spark, and the circuitry in his tricorder would provide it. Within a few minutes, he had a small fire kindled, sputtering, and struggling for life, but a fire. When he was sure the fire would continue to burn, he turned once again to the cave mouth, pulling the grasses across the opening, cutting as much of the cold air and wind as he could. 

Then he gently lay Kes as close to the fire as he dared. Her skin was still far too cold, her face white and frighteningly still. He quickly checked the chronograph on Kes' tricorder. Almost two hours had elapsed since the storm struck. They had been in the cave approximately thirty minutes. It seemed an eternity. He was exhausted, his knee ached where it had struck the icy rocks, his hands and feet had begun to warm and now tingled with returning life. Lowering himself to the ground, he lay between Kes and the cave opening giving in to the trembling of his own body as it fought against the cold. On her other side was the fire, its feeble warmth barely penetrating the cold. Paris' breath hung like a frozen cloud each time he exhaled. Wrapping his arms around the Ocampa, he drew her close, cradling her into his body, to shelter her from the wind and lend some of his body heat to her. She had to live. 

Resting his cheek against the tousled top of her blonde head he whispered into her hair, willing her to respond. "Come on Kes, pull through. You have too." 

**** 


	4. Awakening

****

Kes shifted slightly, snuggling into the warmth of the body lying full length along her own. Arms and legs enveloped her, and though relaxed in sleep, held her close. Near her right ear, loud in the silence, she could hear the slow rhythm of a heartbeat, and feel the gentle rise and fall of breathing. Afraid she might break the gentle magic, of feeling so warm and so safe, she barely opened her eyes. 

_Black_. _Neelix never wore black,_ she thought, her mind still foggy. Following the seam line in front of her slitted eyes, she caught the glitter of a communicator pin, then a splash of muted wine. A starfleet uniform, not Neelix. Then, it came back to her, as much as she remembered before succumbing to the cold. The lashing rain, turning so quickly to ice, and the wind. Running with Tom as they sought shelter from the storm. She had been so cold. So terribly cold. And so sleepy. She did not remember exactly when she lost consciousness. Tom had thought he had located a cave. He must have. It was a warm cave. 

She shifted slightly so she could see his face. He looked remarkably childlike, and innocent when he was asleep. The few times he had been confined to sickbay, she had been too concerned about his health to watch him sleep. The classically sculpted, lines of his face, took on an almost spiritual peace. The picture hardly fit his reputation. He would probably be insulted to know she found him childlike, but she saw the softness in complimentary way. She wondered if the face she now saw mirrored the spirit he kept so carefully hidden. She had never completely believed the things the crew men and women on _Voyager_ said about him, yet the hardened, experienced, devil may care, persona he so carefully maintained seemed molded by those opinions. _Defensive_ _tactics_, she thought hazily. 

Shifting her weight, she rested her head against his chest once more, listening the steady beat of his heart. The cave was lit by a diffuse glow from the cave mouth, it must be near dawn. With a deep sigh, she settled and allowed herself to drift lazily in and out of sleep, reveling in the comfort and warmth of his closeness. 

**** 

Something was tickling his nose. He reached up to brush the annoying thing away and as he did so the slight weight resting against him shifted, and he tightened his arms around it. Then he heard a muffled giggle. Starting suddenly awake, he looked down into large blue eyes, and a disheveled head of fair hair, and remembered where he was and with whom. She tilted her head, watching him through tangled bangs, a puzzled crease forming between her brows, making her look for all the world like the old Manx cat his mother had owned when he was a small child. The mix of lively curiosity and concern, made Paris uncomfortable. 

"You're all right?" he said, then realized how obvious the statement was. 

Kes nodded, light dancing in her eyes. "Yes. And warm." 

Her hand came up to brush the side of his face, and he realized she was still clothed in his gray turtleneck. And little else, he remembered. The relief that had rushed through him as he realized Kes was awake and alert, was replaced by the liquid warmth of desire as he remembered how closely he held the Ocampa to him and what he had been dreaming shortly before he awoke. _Don't even think it, _he told himself clamping down on thoughts and emotions far to tempting. He pushed her away slightly, reluctant to release her completely, but not trusting himself to hold her near. 

"The doctor was right. Your ears really do turn decidedly orange," Kes murmured "though I would call it pink." 

It was his turn to give her a puzzled look. And was rewarded again with her laughter, a light, sound like crystal wind chimes on a warm evening, delicate and ethereal. He decided he was not going to ask what had prompted the Doctor's observation. Instead, he pulled farther away from her. The cave had warmed, and though his fire was reduced to glowing coals, there was enough heat left to maintain a comfortable temperature. He was about to sit up when her face lit, and she smiled, radiantly, reaching out toward him again. 

He felt the puzzled expression crease his brow once more, just as her hand stopped inches away. Then he saw why she had smiled. Splattering her delicate white skin, dancing across her fingers, and flowing through them to stain the wall behind was a rainbow of color. Kes sat up, smiled at him then crawled to the mouth of the cave. Rolling to his back, Paris watched as she sat transfixed. During the night, ice had coated the grassy fronds he had used to cover the mouth of the cave, using them as a weblike support, until the entire mouth of the small depression was sealed by a glassy wall, cutting off the frigid wind, and preserving the heat from his small fire. It had probably saved their lives, by conserving their body heat in this confined space. And now, clear wedges of ice, acting like prisms, split the morning sunshine into shafts of color. 

Kes sat back on her heels before the frozen shield, delighted by the simple beauty, and Paris found his heart echoing her pleasure. 

"It's lovely," Kes said, turning to him with a smile. 

"Yeah," he agreed, though it wasn't rainbows he was watching. 

Kes reached out, touching the frozen wall with one slender finger, tracing the patterns of grasses and ice, transfixed, and herself transfixing. 

_If you only knew how many times I daydreamed about having you alone,_ Paris thought. Then dashed the dream as he had done before. He and Neelix had come to an understanding about their mutual feelings for Kes. They had even come to be friends, as much as Paris allowed any relationship to develop into friendship. He had told himself over and again, that he could never have Kes, had almost forgotten how much he had wanted her and yet, there were dreams. 

Dreams to be forgotten. 

"I guess that means the sun's up," Paris said, to distract his own thoughts. 

"Yes, and the storm is over." Kes started to turn in his direction, then stopped, her eyes closing. Her hands went to her head, massaging her temples. 

"Kes," Paris felt his heart skip with concern. Getting to his feet, ignoring the lingering ache in his knee, he collected Kes' tricorder, and moved to kneel beside her, scanning her vital signs as he did. Her blood pressure was terribly low, as were her blood sugar levels, her heartbeat slow and faint. "Kes, talk to me." Reaching out he took her wrist in his hand. Though she claimed to be warm, her flesh was cold to his touch. 

Looking at him, her eyes frosted, and unfocused. As he took her shoulders in both hands, she stared at him, then slowly became more alert. 

"Dizzy," she said simply. 

"I'm not surprised." Paris answered. "You haven't eaten in several hours. And you haven't completely recovered from the cold. I'm sorry Kes, but I think we need to break down this wall. Its beginning to melt anyway. I'll scan the area for possible food sources." 

"All right." Kes looked down at her attire. "While you're gone I'll dress." 

Paris nodded. Glad she didn't ask how she had come to be clad in his shirt. She seemed unfocused and slightly disoriented. Sitting up, with her blood pressure so low, must have contributed to the dizziness. He needed to find food fast. 

"It's gotten warmer outside." Placing his shoulder against the ice wall, he leaned his weight against it and was rewarded with a satisfying crack as the ice gave beneath the pressure. Chipping away the shards of frozen water and grass, he looked out, and heard Kes gasp behind him. With good reason he thought. The world outside, the same world that had raged in potent fury yesterday, had become a frozen wonderland. The sky was once again clear and crystal blue, the trees and undergrowth, like the grasses in the cave mouth, were glazed with ice, shimmering as morning sunlight glinted from ice crusted branches and leaves, posed like lead glass figurines polished to perfection. Around him he could hear the steady drip of thawing ice and the rustle and chirrup of small animals stirring to activity. 

It truly was lovely. Leveling his tricorder outward, he began to scan the immediate area. The chronometer indicated it might be several hours before Voyager could attempt routine contact or rescue depending on the degree of interference caused by atmospheric and solar disturbances. In the meantime, this small cave would provide sufficient shelter, making food and water their first priority. 

The tricorder bleeped decisively. 

"What is it?" Kes asked, peering over his shoulder. 

"Life sign. Large enough to be human." 

"From _Voyager_?" Kes asked. 

Paris could hear the hope brightening her tone. Hope his next word crushed into oblivion. "Kazon." he answered softly. 

**** 


	5. Kazon Encounter

****

Kes had dressed in minutes and when she finished, Paris scattered the remains of their fire, and tore down the barrier cross the cave mouth. Quickly scanning the small depression, he made certain no sign of their presence remained. He insisted Kes pull his shirt over her own clothing, She needed to maintain her body temperature, and without food, that would be more difficult. But they needed to get away from this area, and the approaching Kazon, and hope they found food as they traveled. 

Taking Kes' hand in his own, trying not to notice how tiny and cold it felt, Paris led the way down the incline that had seemed so mountainous as he had struggled up it yesterday, and into the underbrush of the woodland surrounding them. 

The ice had begun to melt more quickly as the sun warmed the vegetation around them, and they soon found their clothing soaked. Though the sun was warm, the air still held a chill, made colder when it contacted the wet fabric clinging to their skin. Paris felt Kes shiver, but kept her moving. The temperature was rising steadily. In a few hours it would be well above freezing and the threat of another bout with hypothermia would be passed. He did not like the paleness of Kes face, but he dare not stop. Keeping her moving was the best way to keep her warm even if it did deplete her already low reserves. 

As they moved he kept constant watch on the Kazon he had detected. Although traveling in a defined pattern, they did not seem to be moving in their direction. _Perhaps_, he thought, _they're just here looking for food too, and have no idea we're even here._ After putting twenty minutes and at least a kilometer and a half between them and the cave, he slowed. Kes did not look well. She would have to rest and eat if she was gong to continue. Stopping, he took a moment to scan the area for suitable food. They were near a small clearing, and while instinct told him to avoid being caught in the open, Kes' clothing was once again soaked through and she was beginning to shiver. Dragging her forward, he made her sit on a large round rock near the center of the clearing. The sun had warmed and dried the rough granitelike surface, and the heat was beginning to build in the air as well. 

"Stay here," Paris handed her the tricorder. "I've located one of the fruit trees we catalogued earlier, about one hundred and fifty meters north of here. The tricorder is set to scan for any large life form moving in this direction. If you pick up the slightest hint the Kazon are heading this way, come for me." 

Kes nodded, then smiled wanly. Paris bent over and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I'll be back in a few minutes." 

**** 

Kes watched as Paris disappeared into the forest. Taking a deep breath, she looked around the open field and suddenly felt terribly exposed and vulnerable. She could not shake the lethargy that weighted her limbs like leaden bars, making each movement an effort of will. A sudden crush of fear gripped her, and she shuddered, confused by the unexpected rush of emotion that left her feeling helpless and alone. Despite her efforts, she could remember little of what happened from the time they had discovered the shuttle had departed without them, until she had awoken in Paris' arms. The blankness felt like an enormous hollow cave that yawned open, threatening to engulf her. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the feeling. 

Then she remembered the soft brush of Paris' lips across her forehead, the press of his hand on hers, the care and concern in his eyes when he handed her his tricorder moments before. She looked down on the instrument and with trembling fingers adjusted the input. Setting the tricorder beside her, she drew her knees to her chest, her left arm hugging them close to her body. Her right hand traced the center of her forehead where his lips had touched her and she took a deep breath. Closing her eyes, her mind reached tentatively outward, hoping to sense him even though he was out of her sight. 

There, she thought, as her mind cautiously touched his, a feather light brush against the surface of his consciousness that he should not be aware of. Kes was aware she was eavesdropping on another's thoughts without invitation, but she needed the reassurance of this union. And she was not disappointed by what she found. The concern she had read in his eyes, had not been imagined. It was quite real and powerfully felt. She took comfort in his desire to keep her safe. 

Then she felt a frown pressing against the fingertips that still rested against her head. Beneath the concern deeper more unsettling thoughts clamored for attention. Thoughts Paris continually pushed aside - anger that she had been placed in danger, impatience to discover an explanation for why the situation had been allowed to develop, and one more powerful image, that warmed her as the sunshine was only beginning to do. A private thought, one he had buried deeply, that she felt guilty for touching, even though it was meant for her. She had counted herself unbelievably lucky to have found the love of one man when she had been chosen by Neelix. To experience that emotion twice was almost overwhelming. 

The piercing bleep of the tricorder startled her and she tensed, expecting to see Kazon and prepared to flee, but instead Paris emerged from the shadowed woods, his arms filled with round, pale yellow fruits. He grinned at her, and she raised her hand in acknowledgment. Still smiling, he drew close rolled his burden onto the rock on which she sat. 

"Here," he said polishing one of the fruits on the front of his uniform. "It's not much, but it will give you some energy." Handing it to her, he settled beside her, checking the tricorder as he did so. "I haven't had any luck reaching _Voyager_ or any of the other landing parties. I'm assuming they all managed to get safely off the surface before the storm hit. If the Kazon are on the planet, that means their ship is probably in orbit. _Voyager_ might have had to withdraw to avoid detection or a fight." He studied her as though gauging her reaction. 

"I've already thought of that, Tom." 

"It means we may be stuck here for a while. As soon as it's safe, _Voyager_ will be back for us. If we can avoid the Kazon, we should be all right. And if we stay in this general location, they won't have any problems finding us." 

Despite his cheerful attitude, Kes knew he was worried about her and their situation. Nodding, she bit into the fruit. It was crunchy and slightly tart. The juice felt good as is slid down her throat and she realized she was very thirsty as well as hungry. She finished two, before she began to feel better. Nibbling on a third she looked up to find Paris staring at her, a peculiar expression on his face. He looked away quickly, busying himself with the tricorder, and the remains of his impromptu harvest. Kes too, looked down, at the gray shirt she still wore. 

"I guess I should return this," she said, as she began to pull her arms from the sleeves. 

"No," Paris said quickly. "You need the extra warmth. Look, Kes, you know that Neelix and I have..." 

The angry bleep of the tricorder's intruder alert signal interrupted whatever Paris planned on saying. He was on his feet instantly scanning the area from which they had come. 

"Kazon," he said to Kes. "About a half kilometer behind us. Let's get moving." Taking her hand he pulled her from her perch, scattering the remains of their simple meal as he did so. They had barely covered half the distance to the tree line when the signal warned them of another intruder. 

"Damn," Paris muttered. "They're ahead of us too. They must have landed in more than one spot." 

The signal sounded a third time, and Paris looked at Kes. "If I didn't know better I would guess they had just beamed in all around us. As if they knew exactly where we were." 

"But they can't." 

"I know. I think its just blind dumb luck. And not ours," he added softly under his breath. 

Kes felt a rush of desperation pounding from him as he circled with the tricorder. He shook his head, and she did not need to ask what he had found. His stance and his expression told her all she needed to know. 

Then before she could react. He pulled the communicator from his uniform and pressed it into her hand. "Slip this into your shoe." he said quickly. "If they find you there's a good chance they'll stop looking for a communicator after they find the first one." He handed her the tricorder as well, then dragged her into the middle of the open field, and forced her down into the tall grass. 

"Tom, what...." 

"Quiet," he said, the command in his voice unquestioning. "Don't move. Don't make a sound. No matter what happens. _Voyager_ will come, but you have to stay clear of the Kazon." 

"Tom," Kes said, forcing her voice to be calm. "There's no place to hide." 

Paris grinned. "Yeah. That's the idea. A trick mother nature taught me. And one the Kazon are just cocky enough to fall for. Don't move a muscle and they'll never notice you. Just like a fawn." He brushed the hair from her forehead. "And don't worry. I'll be okay." 

Then he stood and began to run, a ragged, zig zag pattern toward the wood line. Too late, Kes realized his intention. She almost followed, had half risen to her knees, when the angry whine of an energy weapon's discharge stopped her. It was a Kazon weapon. There was a second shot, and she heard the sound of bodies crashing through the bushes and into the clearing around her. She froze. Holding her breath as they passed within meters of where she lay, so intent on crossing the clearing they never noticed her. She heard them enter the woods at the far side of the clearing. Shouting voices and the thud of bodies colliding fractured the noonday peace. She couldn't just lie here. Slowly she raised her head to look over the tall grass, just as three figures burst from the edge of the woods, a tangle of arms and legs. The coarse browns of the Kazon overpowering the black clad figure, bearing him to the ground in a tumult of flailing limbs. 

Then it was over. The Kazon stood, dragging Paris to his feet, his arms pinned behind his back. Half dozen of their companions emerged to surround the Human. Kes could hear their voices, though she could not distinguish their words, taunting, victorious, huntsmen with their prey. The two holding Paris had twisted his arms behind him, and Kes winced, the memory of her time as a Kazon captive all too sharp and clear. They would hurt him, for no other reason than because it brought them perverse pleasure. 

The tallest stepped up to stand in front of Paris. He spoke, and Kes could almost see the cocky grin and imagine the stubborn glint that lit the Human's azure eyes. Paris answered, and the Kazon struck, a downward blow across his face, that would have dropped the young man to his knees had Kazon hands around his arms not supported his weight. Paris looked up, the grin gone, his jaw now set and angry, a bloody streak trickling from the corner of his mouth. 

The Kazon commander waved his men back in the direction they had come, dragging their prisoner with them. Kes ducked her head, and fought to control her ragged breathing. Certain she would be detected. But Paris had read the Kazon correctly, and they passed by her without noticing she was there. She lay still, her thoughts in turmoil. Paris had sacrificed himself to provide a diversion to protect her. 

After an eternity spent crouched among the grasses, Kes felt the woodland around her return to a state of cautious normalcy. The deathly silence that had hovered over the clearing in the wake of the Kazon began to echo the tiny sounds of animal life stirring once again. Being careful not to inadvertently make noise, Kes opened the tricorder to confirm what she had already sensed. There were no Kazon within a kilometer of her position. Standing, she carefully widened the scope of her scan, and as she did her heart leapt with joy and relief, then almost immediately crashed. 

Approximately five kilometers west of her position, sat a Federation shuttle, but no apparent signs of life. 

**** 

  



	6. Melchor

****

Kes was stumbling with exhaustion as she approached the shuttle, her senses screaming caution, though her tricorder detected no signs of life. She had half walked, half run, the distance to the vehicle's landing site, hoping against hope that its presence meant rescue, fearing it was only a trap. The shuttle appeared to be completely deserted and she could not believe it had been here when Paris had scanned the area earlier. _Tom would not have missed it,_ she thought. _If he'd been looking for it_. Crouching in the underbrush, she watched for several long minutes, confirming what the tricorder had told her. Nothing moved in or around the Federation craft. Stepping cautiously from her hiding place, she approached the vessel, then touched the access plate that controlled the door locking mechanism. It responded with a soft whisper as the hatch slid open, and Kes stepped into the ship. The hatch swished shut behind her with the characteristically hushed efficiency she had come to associate with Federation technology. 

She leaned back against the comforting solidness of the interior bulkhead, and for a brief moment allowed herself the luxury of relaxing. Closing her eyes, she listening to the silence. The ship's interior was cool after the warmth of the noonday sun, and for the first time since before the ice storm, she relished the coolness. The air was clean, filtered, lacking the riotous variety of fragrances in the forest around them, and that too, felt reassuring. It meant the shuttle was still partially functional. She had not realized how much she had come to associate the filtered freshness of the air with the sense of home she felt aboard _Voyager_. That and the steady thrum of the ship around her. She realized with a sharp pang how much she missed _Voyager_, giving in to the fear that she might never see it, or Neelix, or her friends on board again. The thought had nagged at her, but until now she had not allowed it to dominate her thinking, nor had she succumbed to the fear that this planet might well become her permanent home. _Voyager_ might not be able to return for them. Neelix, and the life she had come to cherish, might be gone forever. 

Then she stood up straight, and stepped away from the wall. "No," she said aloud to the silence, "I won't give up yet. They will be back." And when they did come, she _and_ Tom would be waiting. With the shuttle in their possession, they had a fighting chance. But she was still puzzled by why there was no sign of anyone on board. Nor was there any sign of a struggle. The ship had been voluntarily abandoned, even though it appeared to be in perfect order. 

Walking carefully to the forward section, she scanned the interior, checking for life signs or obvious booby traps, and finding nothing. She and Paris had assumed Melchor had flown this particular shuttle away from the planet's surface right before the storm. Perhaps, he had not been able to escape the planet's atmosphere and had landed here. There was no sign that it had sustained any damage, and she hoped, Melchor had not also been captured by the Kazon. She had pushed that particular thought deeper each time it had tried to gain her attention, but she could not deny the possibility. 

Sitting in the pilot's seat, she lay the tricorder in the seat opposite hers and began to run through the preflight checks as Paris' had taught her. She had no intention of lifting off, but she wanted to assure herself it was possible should it become necessary. As she did so her mind churned through endless scenarios, each more pessimistic than the one preceding it. She forced herself to calmly consider only the most encouraging options, yet thoughts of her own captivity in the hands of the Kazon, continued to force themselves into her mind, clouding her ability to think rationally. The Kazon were brutal captors, born perhaps from brutal circumstances, and she did not want to dwell on what might happen to Paris should he remain in their hands for any length of time. Her only consolation was that he was probably not dead...not yet. The Kazon would not kill him that quickly, even if he were of no value to them. 

Her hands flew over the pilot's controls, testing systems, feeling a surge of relief as each board responded with green lights. She reached for the final touchpadd. 

"Don't move." said a voice behind her. 

**** 

"Turn around, slowly," the voice repeated. 

Kes carefully rotated the pilot's chair until she had turned it 180 degrees, then she let out a sigh of relief. "Merritt." 

Melchor looked as surprised and relieved as she felt. His long features, so often solemn, broke into an infectious smile, that she found herself echoing. His face and uniform were splattered with mud and his dark hair was tousled, but he seemed unharmed. 

"I thought you were dead," he blurted. 

"We thought you'd managed to get off the planet," Kes answered. 

"I did." Then Melchor stopped and looked around the cabin as though searching for something he had misplaced. His face darkened. "Where's Paris? He was with you. Did he leave you alone out here--" 

"No," Kes said quickly, "Not voluntarily at least." She sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. "He's been captured by the Kazon." 

"Damn." Melchor approached, holstering his phaser, and sliding into the co-pilot's seat. 

Kes leaned forward and covered his hand with hers. "What happened?" 

Melchor shook his head mournfully. "The storm was coming faster than I expected. I hadn't gotten any answer from you or Paris. I didn't know if you had gotten my warning or not, but I figured you were caught in the storm as well. Then I got a call from _Voyager_. I could only make out one word." 

"Kazon." Kes guessed. 

Nodding, Melchor swallowed hard and continued. "I managed to get the shuttle off the ground and above the worst of the storm, but there was nothing I could do. There were three Kazon ships in orbit, and _Voyager_ had been forced to retreat. I didn't think I could catch them without being detected by the Kazon, so I landed on the opposite side of the planet. After the storm broke I moved the shuttle here in short hops. When I got close enough to our original position I went out looking for you and Paris, and stumbled into the middle of a Kazon landing party. They didn't see me, but I couldn't get away from them without being detected. I've been holed up, hiding for most of the last twelve hours. And you, and Paris?" 

Kes quickly filled him in on the events since the storm struck. "We have to help him," she ended. 

Melchor's brows drew together, deep in troubled thought. "They seem to have set up camp a few kilometers from here, in the foothills of the mountains. The hillside is peppered with small caves. I heard them talking about it." 

"Do you think they've taken Paris there?" Kes brightened, hoping the answer was positive. 

Melchor shrugged. "I don't know. I only caught bits of conversation as they passed. Nothing was said about a human. They seemed more concerned with gathering fresh food. They might have taken him to one of their ships. If he's even alive." 

"We have to find out. Get close enough to the camp to scan the area without being detected." 

"I agree, but we should wait until they settle for the night. There will be less chance of being detected then." 

Kes started to protest, to emphasize the need to rescue Paris from the Kazon as soon as possible, and he seemed to anticipate her objection, silencing her with a wave of his hand. 

"You don't look like you are in any condition to help anyone," he said firmly. "Neither of us are. I know you don't want to leave Paris in Kazon hands, but if he isn't dead yet, I don't think he will be in the next few hours. You need rest, so do I, or we won't accomplish anything. In five hours it will be dark, another five hours after that, and they will all be asleep except for perimeter guards. I learned that much while I was eavesdropping. They aren't expecting us, so the guard will probably be light. We have to rely on stealth." 

There was little Kes could do in the face of his all too rational logic. "All right. But no more than ten hours." 

"Okay, " Melchor said. "After we've both had some time to rest and some food, we'll do this." And he proceeded to outline a plan. 

**** 

The darkness, satin rich and humming with subdued life, surrounded her as she crouched behind a small outcropping of rock and tried very hard to be patient. The brilliant midday sun had baked the last chill from her body. The air had once again warmed, until the ice storm of the day before seemed little more than a distant memory, and now the evening coolness was a welcome change. She still wore the gray pullover Paris had wrapped her in, not for warmth now, but to ward off the swarms of biting insects and to remind her, she could not relax until he too was safe. She and Melchor had spent the afternoon attempting to rest and waiting impatiently for nightfall. Despite her physical ordeal, she found it impossible to sleep for more than a short period. Dreams haunted her, taunting her with memories of how the Kazon had treated her, and what they might well be doing to Paris. Each nightmare brought her to full wakefulness, her heart pounding in panic, and left her feeling more exhausted than before she had slept, until she had given up any hope of sleep. She had been grateful to finally set out toward the Kazon encampment, but now she found herself waiting again. 

Kes peered into the darkness, straining her senses to catch the slightest hint of where he might be held, if he were even on the planet's surface. Beside her, Melchor crouched, effortlessly balanced on the balls of his feet as though prepared to spring, his long face a blur in the darkness. And Kes was puzzled. Her initial reaction upon seeing him in the shuttle craft had been one of tremendous relief. His presence meant yet another chance that one of them would survive to return to Voyager, and increased the chance of rescuing Paris. She admitted to herself, now, that she was pleasantly surprised that Melchor had so openly accepted her decision to locate and seek the release of _Voyager_'s helmsman. Based on his earlier response to Paris, Kes had been certain that she would have to persuade Melchor to assist her, but instead he had proved willing and even eager to do his share. It embarrassed her to think she had so obviously misjudged him, yet Paris had voiced a similar interpretation of Melchor's behavior. That did not matter, she told herself. The important thing was they were working together. With any luck Paris would soon be free. 

Huddled together near the Kazon camp, they stared into the darkness, trying to find some clue to the Human's whereabouts. Scanning the network of shallow caverns had proven difficult. The composition of the rocks was heavily metallic, and strongly polarized, causing distortions in their tricorder readings. It seemed easier to simply watch, wait and hope they would pick up some clue to his whereabouts. She fidgeted, anxious to move, to do something. She was a patient person, but in her short life she had discovered she was not content to simply wait for events to occur. She wanted to _make_ things happen. Not an Ocampa trait, but perhaps something learned from her new friends. A touch on her arm, brought her attention back to the present. Melchor released her arm and held up his hand, pointing silently toward the far side of the encampment, then nodded and grinned briefly. 

Kes nodded back. She understood. 

They would have to wait longer, until activity in the camp had slowed. Then they would have to work their way around the perimeter to the far side. It would be a few more hours and she did not like it, but she had little choice. 

Finally, Melchor signaled it was time to move. Checking the medical kit strapped to her side, Kes unholstered the phaser Melchor had given her, and followed his lead into the darkened wood. They moved cautiously in a broad circle to the far side of the rocky hillside, being careful to make no noise that would arouse the Kazon. Melchor had assured her that there were no electronic perimeter alarms around this encampment. Apparently the Kazon were confident that they had chased off the alien interlopers, and were alone. 

After what seemed like endless hours of skulking in the darkness, they emerged several feet from the edge of the clearing. There were three small caves facing them. In front of one sat a young Kazon male, a warrior, but barely into adolescence. Melchor nodded to Kes then positioned himself. They had one opportunity. They had to remove the guard, without making a sound. As Kes waited, Melchor watched. In the split second the young Kazon turned his head away from them, Melchor launched himself forward, taking the guard down. There was a brief soundless struggle, that stretched into a surreal slow-motion dance, before Melchor stood, and signaled her to follow. She glanced at her chronometer. It had taken only seconds. Slipping from the shadows, Kes raced across the open area between the cave and the wood line, and slipped into the darkened depression in the hillside. Melchor had propped the unconscious Kazon against the outside of the opening, to divert any of his curious, or sleepless companions, then positioned himself just inside. 

"This cave isn't very deep. There's a sharp bend ahead. I can't get a clear reading, but I think Paris is here. Take the tricorder. I'll guard the opening." 

Kes nodded, her throat tightening with nervous anticipation, as she stepped carefully into the darkness. The tunnel was not wide, the walls and floor rough with tumbled stone. Darkness closed around her in a solid wall as she moved away from the mouth, as quickly as the uneven footing allowed, until she was far enough around the curved tunnel to block her line of sight from the opening, then she carefully switched on her hand light, shielding the beam and keeping it at lowest intensity. She heard a muffled sound ahead and her heart leapt. Around the next turn the tunnel opened into a small, cell like cavern, her lantern barely illuminated the area, but its feeble light was enough. 

"Tom," Kes whispered, as she moved forward. 

Huddled against the far wall knelt a dark figure, almost invisible in the blackness, the light from her lantern catching the barest glimmer of fair hair. He was slumped forward, held at an odd angle, and as she approached he stirred and looked up, blinking in the dim, but unaccustomed light. 

"Tom," she whispered again. 

"Kes," there was disbelief in his voice, and something else. "Damn, I'd hoped you'd gotten away." 

"I did, we've come to get you out of here." 

Paris shook his head. "No." The single word was a parched whisper. 

"Yes, I can." 

"No." 

It was then Kes realized why the angle of his body had seemed so unnatural. On his knees, he leaned backward against a rough beam set in the floor of the cave, his arms wrapped around the beam, and his hands were tied behind it. He could not stand until his hands were freed. 

"Let me get your hands untied." Kes slipped behind him. He grunted, when she bumped into his arms. 

"Kes, just go. Go now." There was desperate urgency in his voice. 

"I am _not_ leaving you here," Kes answered with equal firmness. "As soon as I untie you, we can get you back to the shuttle." 

"_NO_." Paris' voice was almost a shout. "Kes, you don't understand--" 

"I understand all too well," she interrupted. "I won't leave you here with the Kazon. Melchor is guarding the cave mouth. We don't have much time." 

"You have _no_ time, Kes," Paris' voice edged with urgency. "Melchor is working with the Kazon. He's with them." 

"He's right, Kes." 

Kes turned as the darkness flared into brilliant light. Melchor stood where the tunnel widened into the small cell, a torch held in one hand, phaser in the other, the Kazon youth he had pretended to knock out, standing by his side, weapon at ready. 

"And now I have you both." 

**** 


	7. The Face of the Enemy

****

Working with quick efficiency, the Kazon youth stripped Kes of her medical kit, tricorder, phaser and comm badge. She stood for several moments, stunned by this sudden turn of events. She felt her hands ball into fists, clenched rigidly at her sides. How could she have been so foolish to believe Melchor? Why should she have had any reason not to? She was not sure which hurt more, that Melchor had betrayed them both, or that she had fallen for his duplicity and placed herself and Paris in greater danger. That they were in danger, was not in doubt. Melchor, who in one moment had been a welcome ally, had transformed suddenly into the guise of a demon. The change in his demeanor and facial expression, rattled her, deeply and thoroughly. More unsettling was the knowledge that she had suspected nothing since meeting with him at the shuttle hours before. Completely focused on rescuing Paris, she had never sensed anything but compliance from her comrade. Now all her confidence lay shattered at her feet. She had completely misread Melchor and his motives. Yes, he had wanted to help her gain access to the Kazon camp, but not to rescue Paris. He had betrayed them both and her foolishness blinded her to his true intentions. 

"Why?" she asked quietly. 

"Why?" Melchor laughed, a twittering cackle. "Ask Paris. He knows." 

Kes glanced toward Paris. _Voyager_'s helmsman had said nothing since Melchor had stepped into the cave. His face now wore a familiar mask, his eyes dark, his mouth a cynical grin, challenge written in every ounce of his rigidly held body. "Ask Paris," Paris mimicked, his voice low, "and he'll tell you Melchor has finally slipped over the edge." 

Melchor laughed again, loudly, a raucous belly laugh that hinted of madness. 

"Over the edge. Round the bend. Fruitier than a fruitcake. Quaint phrases, but not quite true. I know exactly what I'm doing, Paris. We've all been dragged along on this joyride to the Delta Quadrant, but none of us really wants to be here. Except perhaps you. We'll never get home. Not like this. Tippy toeing from one planet to the next. Always mindful of Starfleet's rules and regulations." 

"Rules and regs you've always been glad to follow," Paris cut in. 

"You're a poor one to talk rules, Paris. You've always gotten away with breaking the rules." 

"Not always." Paris amended quietly, but Melchor didn't appear to hear or respond. 

"Rules. Starfleet rules. What have they gotten us? Trapped here by Janeway's' misguided loyalty to the prime directive. We could have been home. We didn't need to protect the Ocampa homeworld. They were doomed one way or the other. " Melchor's voice had risen as he spoke, tinged with twisted rage, and pompous sense of self-righteousness. He took a deep breath and when he continued his voice was steadier, his words more frightening in their calmness than in hysteria. "What did it get us?" he asked again. "So many dead. My good friend, Cavit. Doctor Fitzgerald. All the ones who knew the truth about you, Paris. They knew what you really were. If they'd lived, you would be spending this voyage in the brig. They knew. They might be alive if it weren't for you." 

Kes knew there was little truth in Melchor's words. His thoughts were disjointed, wandering randomly from accusation to accusation. She knew quite well the power of the Caretaker and knew that he, not Paris, had caused the deaths of Melchor's friends, but that bit of knowledge would never sway Melchor. No bit of logic could sway him. He had drawn his own conclusions, created his own reality, and through the Kazon, found the power to back his madness, to give him strength. 

"I always thought of myself as a loyal Starfleet officer," Melchor went on, "but after a while I began to question if my loyalty was misplaced. All I had to do was look around me, and ask who I could find on the bridge of this 'Starfleet' ship. Janeway, who trapped us here. Maquis traitors. And you. Tom Paris, loyal to none. Trusted by none. YOU had the nerve to accept a position that placed you above the rest of us. None of it made sense. Until I met Michael." 

"Jonas." Kes said flatly, glancing from Melchor to Paris. There was nothing else she could do but watch as the drama played itself out. Melchor swung from livid rage to matter of fact calmness with alarming sharpness, his words logical in their twisted way. And Paris said nothing. 

"Yes, Jonas. My good friend Michael. He knew. He knew the only way to regain our rightful place was to place his loyalty and trust with Seska. He knew. But he was afraid to act." 

"We know he sent transmissions to Seska on several occasions," Kes edged closer to Melchor as she spoke. 

"Yes. But he wasn't working alone." 

Kes stopped. "You?" 

"Yes," Melchor burst. "Yes. Jonas was too timid. He had the dream, I had the will. We worked together. We were inseparable. You ended that union, Paris. Because of you and that spotted hyena, _she_ calls a lover, Jonas is dead. But the dream is not crushed." 

"Tom didn't kill Jonas." Kes said quietly, attempting to draw Melchor's attention away from Paris. 

He spun on her, addressing her as though noticing her presence for the first time. "Yes. Paris and Neelix, working together, accomplished that. What an unlikely pair. Who would have thought they would have ruined so neat a scheme. But now I can avenge my friends, quite possibly repair the damage _you've_ done and achieve my original goal. Because I happened to be in the right place at the right time. Isn't it ironic how fate sometimes hands us the means to an end when we least expect it or plan for it. Paris thinks I'm mad. But I'm just playing with the hand fate dealt me. Taking advantage of the circumstances. The storm, the Kazon, being on this away team with you, and him. None of this was planned, but it all fits so well into my needs. I'm playing this by ear, as they say. But I do play so well." 

"What are you going to do with us?" Kes asked, trying very hard to sound blandly disinterested, though her heart pounded with fear. She dared not show Melchor the slightest anxiety. Dared not reinforce his superior air. 

Melchor shrugged, smiling. "At first I thought I would simply kill you. I certainly don't need you to bargain with Seska. The technology I'll be handing her and the Kazon when I hand over the shuttle, should be enough to buy me a seat on their ruling council." 

"Or to get you shot." The same taunting smirk Kes had seen in the glade more than a day ago, quirked the corners of Paris' mouth. He was baiting Melchor intentionally. 

And Melchor didn't take the bait. Instead he nodded. "Probably," he agreed unexpectedly, foiling Paris' attempt to goad him. "I'm not as valuable as Federation technology. Not to Seska. But to this little gathering of Kazon, I'm so much more. You see, this is a splinter group. Belonging to no particular Maj. They have left their own kind to seek out Seska, to join her, to master Federation technology. To them, I am indispensable, because, through me, they will give Seska the one thing she craves most besides _Voyager_ herself, and that is the Alpha quadrant's most advanced technological wizardry." 

"There's still no guarantee you won't be killed," Kes persisted. 

"True. And these Kazon have the same thought, but they are convinced you and Paris, are the extra they need to win Seska over." 

"Convinced, by you I'm sure. Perhaps we should convince them that we would be of more value to Seska whole. Give me back my medical kit. Let me treat the Lieutenant's injuries." 

"Oh," cooed Melchor, "is it 'The Lieutenant' now. What happened to 'Tom'? You think I'm foolish enough to release him, much less let you treat him. I'm no more stupid than I am insane, Kes. Besides, a little pain never hurt anyone. Paris has caused enough others pain. In fact, I have something different in mind, Paris. Just causing pain isn't enough. The Kazon need to be confident that they have completely subdued you, and The Golden Boy needs to be brought down a few notches." 

Kes was startled to hear Paris chuckle, softly, as though in disbelief, or, she thought, as though the threat was not new to him. 

"You know, Tom." Melchor placed a snide emphasis on Paris' first name. "I haven't been with these Kazon much more than a day, but in that short time I've realized they are a one dimensional race. Even more so than the Klingons. The Kazon are limited by their struggle for existence and everything about them is unimaginative, including their attitudes about dominance. They dominate their females, and they try to dominate one another, but they haven't truly begun to understand how thoroughly one male can subjugate another." 

"What are you getting at Melchor?" 

Beneath the outward belligerence of his tone, Kes could hear the tiredness in Paris' voice, see it in the drawn whiteness of his face, and in the slump of his shoulders. He was not beaten, but he was loosing the need to resist, slipping into the passivity of simply not caring, as though he were anxious to get on with whatever Melchor had planned and be done with it. 

"To put it simply, I've convinced them that, in order to impress Seska, they must be more Cardassian than she is and that a truly powerful Cardassian male must dominate, totally, all other males. That controlling a male is the ultimate authority. I've also convinced them that you are a very well ranked Human, in the Cardassian sense. Possessing you, forcing you to submit totally to their will, then offering you to her, will in turn, give them great power and credence in any dealings with Seska." Melchor seemed to come alive as he spoke, pacing the confines of the small cave, his hands a manic comedy of gestures manipulating the air to emphasize his words. In the soft light of the torch, his hands sent grotesque shadows dancing across the darkness in a macabre waltz as threatening as his words. He laughed softly, an eerie cackle, and Kes began to believe, for the first time, that he was truly deranged. He believed what he was saying even though the reasoning was hopelessly flawed. "I've even made up a ritual of sorts. A rite of passage. Its funny how easily they can be convinced, how eagerly they accept this fantasy, how desperate they are to have an 'in' with Seska. They've decided that tomorrow, they will each force you to submit to them. It seems to have become quite the challenge." 

"Submit?" Kes said. She knew how naive the question sounded. She also knew full well what Melchor was threatening. "Merritt, you can't do that. Tom has done nothing to harm you. You know none of this will mean anything to Seska." 

Melchor laughed, louder, a frightening sound that twisted like a claw in Kes' heart. "You're right. It won't mean a damn thing to _her_. But they don't know that, and, maybe, it will mean something to me." His eyes glittered from the shadows, and she could hear the rasp of his breathing, elevated by anticipation. 

"Kes, don't." Paris voice was low, but the command was undeniable. 

"Yes, Kes, don't interfere," Melchor mimicked Paris voice. "Your turn will come. But for tomorrow, Tom Paris will be center stage, and I will watch, as will you. And if he doesn't perform to my satisfaction, _you_ will take his place." 

"No, Melchor." Paris' shoulders straightened and he rose up on his knees despite the restraints binding his arms. "No way in hell. You'll get your show tomorrow. Perhaps more than you bargained for. But only as long as Kes stays here." 

"Oh, Paris, have we found your weakness?" Sarcasm dripped from Melchor's quietly spoken words as he stepped closer to Kes, his hand stroking the tousled blondeness of her hair. "Have we found the one thing that gets under that seemingly impenetrable hide of yours? Is it possible that devil-may-care, Tom Paris, who cares for no one but himself, has an 'Achilles heel'? I thought it _was_ just a rumor, a passing fancy, but maybe all that shipboard chatter about you and Kes was true. It did amaze me that Neelix would allow his lady love to accompany _you_ to such a lovely place as this. This makes things much more interesting. Maybe," Melchor stopped as though savoring a forbidden thought, then continued, "Maybe, tomorrow, if Kes feels the same for you, she'll find a way to bargain for you, to save you from certain humiliation." 

Melchor said nothing more. There was no need to. Kes knew full well what he wanted in return for Paris. 

"But you have the night to think of that don't you." Melchor nodded, false congeniality in his smile and his tone. "Until then, I will leave you 'lovebirds' alone. Think about what I've suggested, Kes. Think well." 

With that Melchor turned and strode out of the cave, taking the Kazon warrior with him. 

**** 

Turning slowly to where Paris still knelt, Kes got down on her knees beside him, embarrassed by her failure. "I'm sorry," she said softly, not wanting to look him directly in the eyes. 

"Nothing to be sorry about," he answered gently. 

She looked up to find him watching her intently. 

Alarmed by the strain she heard hidden in his voice and words, she quickly forgot her own discomfort, as concern for him swept through her. Melchor had left her with little more than a light, but she could at least determine how badly Paris was injured. Recovering her lantern, she placed it on the ground beside him. "Let me untie your hands." 

"That's okay," Paris said quickly. 

Too quickly, Kes decided. "Yes, I will. Don't argue." 

"Kes, don't--" 

Paris grunted softly, under his breath, when she bumped him again. He _was_ hurt, she didn't need a tricorder to know that, and it went beyond the darkening bruise on his cheek. Carefully, using her hands, eyes and senses, she examined him as the Doctor had shown her. His face was cool, but far too pale, breathing and pulse elevated, perhaps from anger, and he was in pain. She soon determined why. 

"Your hands." 

Paris looked away, jaw clenched. "It's nothing." 

"It's more than nothing, Tom Paris." 

"But there's nothing you can do right now, Kes." 

Cautiously, making sure she did not jostle his arms or hands, she studied the ropes he was bound with. Woven of a tough, metallic fiber, they were more like heavy cable than rope, the intricate knot sealed, with a melted substance that made untying impossible, and she had nothing with which to cut the bindings. 

"What did they do?" she asked softly, although she did not need to ask. His hands were swollen, the fingers twisted and discolored. It was all too obvious what had occurred. 

Paris said nothing. 

"Melchor?" Kes asked. "Did he---" 

"No." Paris swallowed hard, steadying himself before he continued. "It was the Kazon. Melchor just made a few suggestions. He's good you know. Better than I ever expected. Good at finding the best ways..." Paris' voice faded, his eyes closed against the memory. 

"The best ways to hurt." 

Paris nodded. "He told them I was a pilot. Asked them to think of something 'appropriate'." He was silent for a long moment, the he looked at Kes. "I guess he wanted to make sure I didn't fly out of here in the shuttle he's got hidden in the woods." 

"So they broke your hands." 

A shudder went through the young helmsman, and he nodded. 

"Oh, Tom, I had a hypospray. If I'd known, I would have had time to take care of the pain." 

"It's okay, Kes. Everything is pretty well numb from my shoulders down right now." Paris looked at her, his steady blue eyes, troubled. "I'd hoped you had gotten away." 

Caressing his face with a gentle, soothing touch, Kes brushed the sweat soaked hair from his forehead. She could feel the exhaustion, desperation and fear radiating from him, even though he appeared outwardly calm. It startled her to realize that the weaker he became the more intensely she was able to read his unspoken emotions. It made her decision that much easier. 

"When he comes back in the morning ," Kes said, firmly, "I'll do whatever he wants." 

"No." Paris choked the word in a voice worn to harshness. "No, Kes. You can't." 

"Tom," Kes laid a tiny hand on each side of his face, her fingers gentle, lifting his face to hers. "I have to. It's the only chance you have." 

"No," emotion cracked in Paris voice. "It won't do any good. He'll use you, and nothing will change for me." His voice dropped to a rasping whisper. "I won't let you." 

The naked hurt in Paris voice, brought tears to Kes' eyes. She hoped he could not see them, and she fought to keep them from her voice. "Ever since the storm, you've struggled to protect me," Kes said simply, "Now it is my turn to protect you. I can stop him from hurting you any more." 

"That's just the point, Kes." Paris words were edged with exhaustion and pain. "It no longer matters what either of us do." 

"Don't say that." . 

"But its true, Kes. Degrading yourself won't stop him from hurting me. In his mind, I'm getting exactly what I deserve. Maybe he's right" There was a moment of hesitation. "Besides, he can't do a damned thing to me, that hasn't already been done, by someone else." Shame burned in Paris eyes, in the rigidly clenched jaw. "Can't you understand. You can't give in to him. Not for me." 

Kes was startled and frightened as she watched the last remnants of his spirit crumble. Despite her embracing fingers, he looked down. Paris' voice was barely audible and she leaned forward to catch his words. "I'm not worth it." 

Kes lifted his face to hers once more, shocked by the sadness she saw there, the years of self doubt, of hiding pain the pitiless words of others caused, of always being made to feel less than he was. She had suspected, but until now, had not fully understood, his private demons. 

"Promise me," he whispered. "When he comes back in the morning, you'll refuse to co-operate with him. Promise." 

"Oh, Tom--" 

"Promise." 

Kes nodded, silently. 

With that, some of the tension drained from Paris rigidly held shoulders. His body slumped against the pole at his back, his head tilted backwards, and his eyes closed, calm resignation settling his features in a sleeplike peace. Her senses told her, he was far from being at peace, but some of the worry had evaporated. Opening his eyes, he looked at her. 

"You should try to get some rest," he said. 

"Everyone keeps telling me that," Kes snapped more harshly than she intended, frustration and anger filling her. "I hardly feel like resting." 

"But you need to. You'll need your strength tomorrow." He swallowed hard. "We both will." 

Kes knew arguing would be futile, though her mind churned with silent fury, at Melchor, at the Kazon. She felt an anger she had never known when she was a captive herself, yet now the simmering passion that had been building in her threatened to spill out. How could Melchor treat a fellow human in such a fashion? She could almost understand the Kazon, but Melchor? 

Paris read the distress in her features because his mouth quirked into a small sarcastic grin, "Makes you want to scream doesn't it." 

Kes nodded not trusting herself to speak. 

"I had a friend, when I was a kid. She used to always say, 'if you feel like screaming, and don't scream, you'll get fat.'" 

Kes looked at him, puzzled by the non sequitor. 

Then Paris forced a subdued laugh. "She used to go out into the woods and rant and rave and kick trees until she got it out of her system." 

"Did it work?" 

"Seemed to work for her. She never got fat. Broke her toe once, but she never got fat." 

Kes was about to protest the absurdity of the story, then realized its purpose. He was trying to distract her, put her at ease and she was grateful for his efforts, for the comfort his words brought, however slight, and for his selfless strength. 

"Try to get some rest, Kes. There really is nothing else you can do. We'll have to wait 'til morning, then play it by ear." 

She hesitated a moment longer, not wanting to admit to the tiredness she suddenly felt, but it must have shown in her face. 

"Lie down. Use my knees for a pillow if you like." 

Kes paused, then lowered herself to the hard packed dirt of the cave floor. Settling with her back toward him, being careful not to jostle his arms, she rested her head against his knees so that he could not read her expression. When morning came, she would find a way to shield him from further harm. She had the means. Slowly, the anger drained from her, and in its place was left unsettling fear and deep sorrow. Unbidden tears formed, slipping silently from her eyes, wetting the fabric of his uniform, until she cried herself to sleep. 

**** 


	8. Escape

****

"How touching." 

Kes sat up, awakened by the voice, and the scrape of boots on the cave floor. She glanced over her shoulder to Paris, and her throat tightened with concern. He remained frozen in place, head tilted backward and eyes closed. She knew he had not rested. His face had gone from pale to ashen, the color drained from his lips, leaving them a drawn, gray line. Despite his lecture to her, he had apparently not slept and when he looked at her his eyes, darkened by pain, smoldered in fatigue sunken hollows. 

He nodded at her. The slightest ghost of a genuine smile touched his face and brought a brief light into his eyes. The smile was meant only for her, to remind her of her promise, and was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a deadly calm she found disturbing. He intended on accepting whatever fate, and Melchor, served him, in the hopes that she would escape unscathed. But she would not. 

Coming slowly to her feet she stood an arms length from Melchor. "I've thought about what you proposed..." she began. 

"Kes, NO." 

"I'm sorry, Tom." 

**** 

Kes rose with the fluid graze of a hunting cat, not of someone who had alternately, in the last three days, nearly frozen to death, and spent two nights sleeping in cold caves on stone floors. She was tousled, and her clothing smudged, but she exuded an air of feline vigor he found unexpected and which Melchor, obviously found exciting. 

"Kes." Paris called her name a second time, knowing full when what she had in mind, knowing he couldn't stop her if Melchor took her up on her offer, and yet he struggled against the bonds that held him helpless. But she did not, or more likely would not, listen and he could do nothing to stop her. 

Kes moved slightly closer to Melchor, close but not quite touching, "I need to go outside," she stated simply. 

"You will. We all will." 

"No," Kes said more firmly, "_I_ need to go outside. Please. It's been a long night, and I need a minute." 

Paris shook his head, and despite the gravity of their situation, had to stifle his laughter. When he realized what Kes was actually requesting, the crestfallen look on Melchor's face, though brief, was worth every ounce of discomfort. Melchor was certain he had won, so self assured, convinced Kes was willing to do whatever he wanted. Paris had to admit, he had been convinced himself, and chagrined to admit, he had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Of course, Melchor might still prove to be right. Kes might be planning to go along with his proposal, but for one glorious moment, Melchor lost control of the situation. 

Of course the moment was brief and short lived. He nodded to one of his Kazon companions, who roughly took Kes by the arm and led her toward the mouth of the cave. 

"Is it dawn already?" Paris asked nonchalantly, covering his momentary urge to laugh with a smart remark. 

Melchor's face darkened. "You think you are so superior. Even now." With a nod towards the second Kazon warrior, Melchor said, "Cut him loose." 

The young Kazon drew a long knife from his belt, stepped behind Paris and quickly severed the cords that held him bound and immobile. With no gentleness, he grabbed the young Human firmly by the arm and jerked him to his feet. Though he had thought his arms numb from lack of circulation, the sudden sharp movement elicited a tidal wave of pain that left Paris battling to maintain his balance. His stomach churned, and despite his best effort, a cry had escaped him. He quickly clamped his lips shut, his long, in drawn, shuddering breaths the only sound in the cavern, until the silence was broken by Melchor's self satisfied chuckle. 

"Not so tough," Melchor said. "Not so tough." 

"So what happens now, Melchor?" Paris asked when he could trust his voice again. The Kazon stood close, hand still clamped around Paris' upper arm. The subtle pressure was sufficient to send jolts of pain through arms that hung uselessly at his sides. 

"As soon as your lady friend returns, you'll know." 

"But it isn't dawn yet. You said dawn." 

"Quiet." Melchor snapped. "This is my game. I make the rules." Melchor's hand moved to the phaser at his side, fingers curling around the weapon. His demeanor seemed less boastful. Last night's swagger had been replaced by a nervous urgency. 

Something had changed, Paris thought. Something had altered his plans and Melchor was worried. "She's back," Paris said simply, nodding to the darkness behind Melchor. Then with no warning, he launched himself into the Kazon warrior that held him, driving with all the force of his legs, slamming his guard hard into the side wall of the cave. The Kazon grunted as his head struck a rocky protrusion with a sickening crunch, then the momentum of his body carried Paris sideways and down, the Kazon, stunned, falling atop him. Paris' arms where pinned, and useless, so he pushed with his legs, struggling to break free and capitalize on his advantage, when he heard Melchor's outraged curse. Twisting his head, Paris found himself staring down the length of Melchor's arm. Behind the phaser he held in a viselike grip, was a face twisted with demented rage. Foam flecked his lips and Paris saw his finger twitch reflexively on the firing mechanism. 

_That's it, I'm dead,_ Paris thought. 

Then a ghostly apparition exploded from the darkened entrance, landing on Melchor's back like a feral cat. Paris felt the heat of a phaser discharge burn past his cheek, and the body on top of him went limp amidst the odor of charred flesh, then a barely audible hissing sound dropped Melchor and his attacker to the floor of the cave in a jumbled heap. Paris pushed again, rolling the Kazon's weight off himself, just as the heap that was Melchor, began to stir. 

"Tom" came a muffled voice, then a grunt and Kes pulled herself free from under Melchor. 

"Are you all right?" Paris and Kes spoke in unison. 

Paris had managed to lever himself to his feet, adrenaline giving him the extra strength to stand upright, but the motion caused his head to spin, and he leaned back against the wall. Kes was at his side immediately. 

"We've got to get out of here," she said in an urgent whisper. 

"I know," he nodded agreement. "But Melchor..." 

"I don't think we will need to worry about him for a couple of hours." 

"We can't leave him." 

Kes shook her head negatively. "We can't take him with us if we're going to escape ourselves. If we can, we'll come back for him. Once we contact _Voyager_." 

Paris didn't miss the tone of doubt in her voice, or the anger just below the surface of her words, and for a moment it took him by surprise. Kes, gentle Kes, who would harm no one, hated Melchor, or perhaps hated only what he had done. But Paris didn't miss the sympathy behind the tough determination on her face either. Melchor was insane. Driven there, perhaps, by the stress of their separation from all that was familiar in the Alpha quadrant. He deserved their help if not their pity, but there was no time for that now. 

Without further word, Kes gently laid her hand on his arm and urged him toward the cave's entrance. He could tell from the depth of the darkness in the narrow passage that it was not yet daylight, but the soft stirring of animal sounds as they approached the mouth signaled dawn was near. They had to put as much distance between themselves and the encampment as possible while they still had the cover of darkness. They slipped through the edges of the strangely subdued and silent Kazon camp. He did not protest as Kes unerringly led them into the woods, remembering how well she navigated the brushy terrain, and he followed mindlessly, focusing all his remaining strength on placing one foot in front of the other and following her back. His hands and arms throbbed and each step jolted through him amplifying the pain, until simple walking became an excruciating challenge. It wasn't until she stopped that he realized he had been moving in a haze, and was shocked to know that he was completely disoriented. Swaying with the effort to remain standing, he finally leaned his back against a tree for support, cradling his broken hands in his midsection, he leaned forward, waiting for his head to clear. 

Kes turned to face him, the cold light of morning filtering through the dense canopy of trees overhead. Her expression went from determined to grim, then she stooped, and when she stood again, he felt metal press against his throat and heard the soft hiss of a hypospray. 

"What..." he started to protest. "No, Kes, no drugs. I need to think..." 

"You're not thinking now," she said sternly. "You're barely walking. This will help with the pain and contains a mild stimulant." She looked down, then when she faced him again, she wore a guilty expression. "I should have done that last night," she confessed, "but I was afraid I might need it for morning." 

"Last night?" Paris sounded dull and stupid, even to himself. 

"Last night." Kes said again. "I had the hypo with me the whole time." 

"Where?" 

Kes smiled. "Trick a good friend taught me. In the top of my boot. Melchor never looked. I wanted to use it last night. You were in pain. But after what Melchor said," Kes looked away again, her expression distressed, "after what he threatened to do to you, I saved it. I was going to use it this morning. I wasn't going to let him or the Kazon, hurt you again." 

Slowly, the meaning of her words sunk in. She had planned on loading him with enough pain killer to obliterate anything Melchor might have done to him physically. "Melchor's no fool. He would have known something was wrong and waited until the drug wore off." Paris had caught his breath, the throbbing in his hands was subsiding to a dull ache. 

Kes said nothing. 

"You weren't going to let him wait that long were you?" Paris wasn't sure if he felt anger, or a surge of gratitude, that she would go to such lengths for him. "You promised," he said simply. 

"And I kept my promise. Nothing happened, Tom." Kes answered firmly, taking him by the arm and urging him to move again. "And nothing will if we get to that shuttle before he wakes up or the Kazon realize we're missing." 

They were moving again, through the brush. The gray morning light had crept as far as the forest floor, lifting the gloom from the shadowed depths. They could see where they were going now and moved more quickly, and silently. 

"There is one catch." Paris spoke to Kes' back. "If he's moved the shuttle." 

"Lets hope he was either too confident or too paranoid for that. I think only he and I knew where the shuttle was. I believe he deliberately kept the information from the Kazon. With luck, he didn't move it, either because he never thought we would be a threat, or because he didn't want the Kazon following him to its location." 

There was little more to say on the subject, and Paris strained his ears to detect any sounds that would indicate they were followed. When Melchor regained consciousness, he would go straight to the shuttle, there was no doubt of that. The remaining distance was covered in silence, and as they approached a small clearing the sun had peaked far enough above the horizon to brightly light the small meadow. Paris felt a rush of relief. Roughly covered with broken limbs for camouflage, the shuttle stood. Kes stopped him at the edge of the clearing, and they crouched for a few minutes to make certain there was no movement in the shuttle, then she edged cautiously toward the silent vehicle. Laying her hand on the locking mechanism, Paris heard both the hiss of the lock and the release of her breath at the same time. Then, he realized, he'd been holding his own breath as well. 

Quickly, they clambered aboard, moving to the forward section. Then, a foot from the pilot's seat, Paris stopped, looked helplessly at his hands. "You'll have to fly us out, Kes." 

"I know." 

"Then let's get to it." 

**** 


	9. Conclusion

****

Kes slid into the co-pilot's seat, taking a deep breath to calm her suddenly shaking hands. She could do this. She had passed all the basic flight instruction courses. She had flown on more than one occasion, though always with a trained pilot in the seat next to her, prepared to take over if there was any difficulty. 

_There's still a trained pilot in the other seat_, she told herself, glancing sideways to where Paris sat. He held himself upright, the strain of the past days evident in the set of his jaw and paleness of his skin. He was conscious by act of will and the stimulant she had pumped into him less than an hour ago. She wondered if she looked much better herself. But he was there. She smiled at him and he nodded back. 

Without further delay she began the preflight checks, rapidly switching on systems, and breathing easier as each responded with a ready signal. Melchor evidently had not thought to place a security lock out any vital systems. 

"Initializing fusion reaction system." she said out loud. "Anti-grav units, on-line. Impulse and warp drives, on-line." She spoke each step like a soothing mantra. 

Paris verified her readings as each system was activated. 

"Ready." Kes said firmly, her hands rested on the control console. 

She looked at Paris again. 

"She's all yours," he said quietly. 

Kes took a deep breath, then moved her fingers over the shuttle's main controls. There was a scraping sound at the ship pulled free of the camouflage, the branches sloughing away like chaff. Effortlessly, almost soundlessly, the small craft rose into the air. Determined to make the flight as smooth as possible, not wanting to jostle her companion any more than necessary, Kes cleared the trees surrounding the meadow. The shuttle rose quickly, angling upward to clear the planet's atmosphere. 

"You need to correct your angle of ascent, approximately three degrees," Paris said. 

Kes nodded, then risked a glance at her passenger. Paris still sat tensely. _He must be afraid of my flying,_ she thought, feeling a wry grin tug at her mouth, then realizing how much that grin must mirror the one she had come to associate with Tom Paris. "My flying makes you nervous." she said teasingly, trying to break the tension, for both him and herself. 

"No," Paris said quickly. "I know you can do it." 

"You certainly don't look like you do." Kes teased again. 

"That's not it." 

"Then what is it?" 

"Melchor," Paris answered simply. 

Kes felt a surge of guilt. "We couldn't bring him with us, Tom. I couldn't carry him, and neither could you." 

"I know." 

"What else." 

"Was it just me, or did the Kazon camp seem too quiet?" 

"It seemed deserted," Kes agreed. She was silent for a moment as she concentrated on maintaining the ship at a stable angle while they passed through the turbulence in the upper atmosphere. 

"And Melchor was different. Nervous. Like the plan had changed during the night and he wasn't sure where he stood any more." 

Before Kes could think of a suitable answer, they had slipped beyond the bounds of the planet's atmosphere, and into space, the indigo hues of the upper stratosphere giving way to the star spattered blackness of space. She felt an overwhelming awe as she guided the shuttle into the cosmos that a scant two years before had been little more than a fairy tale, and once again she marveled at her fortune. So intent was she on piloting that she did not at first realize they were completely and totally alone. Glancing at her companion, she read his unasked question, then spoke her own. "Where's _Voyager_?" 

Paris shook his head, frowning as he glanced over the sensor readings. "Sensor's aren't picking up anything. No other ships in sensor range." He looked at her, then quickly added. "Which doesn't mean they aren't here. They could be on the far side of the planet, in which case, it is shielding _Voyager_ from our sensors." 

"What do we do next?" 

"Assume standard orbit. We'll be on the other side of the planet in fifteen to twenty minutes. If _Voyager_ is there, we'll run right into her." 

Kes could tell that Paris was attempting to keep his tone light for her sake, but he was obviously as disappointed as she that _Voyager_ was not in their immediate vicinity. 

"We've achieved standard orbit." Kes sat back from the controls, breathing a sigh of relief. She looked again at Paris. He leaned back in the contours of his seat, hands cradled limp and useless on his lap. She moved to his side, laid a hand on his forehead. He was far too warm, two bright spots of pink the only color on a face far too pale. He needed medical attention and needed it now "How do you feel?" she asked. 

"Hungry," he answered without opening his eyes. 

"I think I can take care of that, but first..." 

**** 

Paris didn't hear the end of Kes' sentence as she quickly walked to the rear of the shuttle. He listened to the sounds of her moving, heard the hum of the replicator, all so familiar. Opening his eyes, he staring into the empty space before and around them. What if there were no _Voyager_? If they did not locate her within a reasonable amount of time, they would be forced to return to the surface. He wasn't sure he was ready to test his survival skills again just yet, not with a couple dozen angry Kazon and one crazy human on their heels. And they could not forge out into uncharted space in search of their comrades if they didn't know where the ship had gone. He should check for warp signatures, try to locate her trail. Sitting up, cursing the sluggishness of his own thoughts, for not beginning the procedure as soon as they cleared the interference generated by the planet's atmosphere, He reached for the sensor touch padds. Halfway through the movement, he stopped. He hadn't really looked at his hands. Not since the Kazon had finished with them. A queasy knot formed in the pit of his stomach, and he decided he didn't want to look now. 

As he sat staring dumbly at twisted, bruise-darkened fingers, a slender white hand gently covered his own. He looked up to see Kes, concern etched on her delicate features. 

"I can give you more pain killer," she offered. 

"No, it's not that bad. I just...hadn't... looked..." Paris voice trailed off, as he swallowed the bile rising quickly in his throat. 

Kes turned his seat so he faced her. Something warm was laid across his knees, then she deftly cut the sleeves of his uniform. Gently, she began to wrap the warm dressing around his injured right hand. Preferring not to watch, he concentrated on her face as she worked, studying every sculpted nuance, every changing expression. 

"This isn't a cure," she said. "You'll need surgery to correct the damage. But this will provide support and some relief from the pain until we get you back to Sick Bay." 

It was only then that Paris looked down. She had encased his hand in a foam like substance, firm enough to prevent movement, but light enough to feel almost nonexistent. "What is it?" 

"A splint of sorts. I replicated some of the material used for packing and insulating delicate electronic machinery for long term shipping and storage. It should do the trick." 

Paris raised his right hand, which now looked more like a primeval club. "Would probably come in real handy in a bar fight too," he said half to himself. 

"What was that?" Kes asked. 

"Thank you." 

"And thank, _you_." 

Paris laughed. "For what, Kes? For getting you stranded here, then captured by a madman, who threatened to--" Paris felt the laughter slip from his voice. 

"None of which was your fault." Kes face shifted from concern, to gratitude. "I was thanking you for saving my life, Tom. Without you, I would have frozen to death, then none of the above would have mattered." 

"And we would never have been caught in the storm to start with if Melchor..." 

"Melchor," Kes said firmly. "_Not_ Tom Paris." 

They sat silently, her face inches from his, her blue eyes intent, until Paris leaned away from her, not trusting the odd, old feeling that suddenly hit him hard and strong. After all that had happened, he still wasn't sure he could trust himself alone with her, and he needed to break contact with those probing, sensitive eyes. She read him too well, and he did not want her to read what he felt at that moment, or he would have more to explain to Neelix than he wanted. It would be interesting enough explaining why she still wore his shirt and he did not. 

Kes must have sensed and shared his rush of discomfort, because she quickly stood and walked again to the rear of the vessel, then returned, carrying a steaming mug. Whatever was in it smelled damned good, he told himself. 

"Chicken soup," Kes answered, before he had a chance to ask. "Ensign Wildman strongly recommended it for a variety of ills. Though I must admit the Doctor says it has no particular medicinal value." 

Paris started to reach for the hot mug, then realized there was no way he could handle it himself. Kes knelt down beside his chair again, and cautiously held the brew to his lips. The first sip seared the tip of his tongue, but he didn't care. He was hungry enough to eat a bear. Kes helped him to a second sip. 

"I feel like a--" 

"--baby?" Kes asked, her eyes twinkling. 

**** 

Kes smiled at her patient, relaxed, and for the first time in days truly hopeful that the adventure they so innocently embarked upon would end well. She was about to offer him another sip from the still hot cup, when the smile that had begun to tug at the corners of his mouth, turned downward. He sat staring out the front port. 

"Damn," he muttered. 

Kes turned, glancing over her shoulder. They had been in orbit barely fifteen minutes. Ahead, at the curving edge of the planet's boundary, sat _Voyager_, regal in her stillness, hard light from this system's sun glinting off her outer shell so she shown like a crystal vase. 

"That explains why the Kazon camp was so quiet. And why Melchor was so nervous." Paris nodded to the scene playing out before them. 

Fifteen Kazon vessels of varying sizes, harried _Voyager_, pounding her with a steady barrage of fire from all angles. While none of them was as large as _Voyager_, their combined fire-power was enough to inflict serious damage if they found weakness in the larger ship's shields. 

"Melchor's friends evidently decided they didn't need him, his schemes, or his shuttle. They had bigger fish to catch." Paris leaned forward in his seat, intent on the ensuing conflict. 

"What do we do now?" Kes asked, slipping into the co-pilot's seat. She automatically raised the shuttle's shields, her hands poised over the flight controls. 

Paris glanced at her. "_Voyager_ may be looking for us. She may not leave until she knows we're safe...or dead. She can't drop her shield to let us back on board. If we try to contact her we may be able to draw off a few of them." 

"They should have picked us up on their sensors by now," Kes said. 

"Yeah. And they're keeping quiet so the Kazon don't notice us too soon." 

As he spoke three of the Kazon ships broke off their attack and turned in the direction of the approaching shuttle. 

"Seems its a moot point now, Kes." Paris was silent for a moment. "Remember the training exercise we did, avoidance tactics, flying though an asteroid or debris field." 

"Yes." Kes tried to keep her voice level and calm, though she had a good idea what he was going to suggest. 

"Well, combat maneuvers are a bit different, but some things are the same. I want you to do exactly what I say, even if it makes no sense at the time. Agreed." 

Kes nodded. "I understand." 

"It is essential that you do what I say, the instant I say to do it." 

"Understood." 

Paris leaned forward, his splinted hands at the edge of the control panel. "We're going to start with evasive pattern Omega. On my mark." 

Kes bit her lip as Paris proceeded to snap commands at her, commands that sent the small craft she piloted spiraling and diving, in and around the three vessels that pursued it. Each rapid change in direction sent her heart into her throat, the shuttle groaning as she banked too sharply or nor sharply enough. She felt as though they were floundering, not flying with the grace and art Paris would have demonstrated. She sensed his frustration as she rolled too sharply to port bringing them up on a collision course with one of the Kazon, a collision barely avoided. Then an idea struck her and she berated herself for not thinking of it sooner. She could do more than anticipate his orders, she could think them with him. Carefully, she reached out to him, opening her thoughts in the hope she would sense what he wanted her to do before he spoke it. The touch was tentative at first, then stronger as her confidence grew, her hands flew across the controls, almost in sync with his thoughts, sensing his orders before they were verbally given. The flight path of the shuttle settled into a dance, fluid, almost flawless. They worked their way closer to _Voyager_. 

Then dimly, she heard a voice, Kim's voice. "Paris, Kes, Melchor...this is _Voyager_. Do you read." 

"Yeah, Harry, we read. Good to hear your voice," Paris answered. 

"Tom." Kes could hear the excitement and relief in Kim's response. "If you can approach closely enough, we can drop our shields long enough to allow you inside them. Do you think you can shake the vessels that are pursuing you." 

"Maybe. This one guy's hugging us pretty close. But maybe." 

Kes watched in fascination as a barrage of phaser fire flickered from the weapons banks of the starship in front of them. Great gouts of searing energy sliced through the blackness touching the Kazon ships, with deadly force. Two of their vessels exploded in fireballs that blossomed outward, filling the darkness with shattered, flaming debris. The Kazon responded by doubling the ferocity of their attack, but the tactic worked. All but one of the ships attacking the shuttle were drawn back to _Voyager_. One remained, close on their heels, battering relentlessly at their aft shields with volley after volley of weapons fire. Dodging and twisting, they were not able to shake their pursuer. 

"Kes," Paris said at last. "Set a course straight for _Voyager_." 

"Straight?" she repeated, though she knew, in her mind she had heard him correctly. 

"Straight. Don't change course unless I tell you to." 

Kes heard a bleep as the comm system was reactivated. "Harry, this it Paris." 

"Yes." 

"Can you drop the shields on my mark." 

There was pause while Kim talked with someone else. "Yes." 

"Okay. Stand by." 

Kes held perfectly still. In less than ten seconds they would collide with _Voyager_'s shields. 

"Kes, when I give you the word, tilt your nose up about eight degrees, then arc downward into a 360. Ready..." 

Kes didn't remember hearing the next command, she simply responded, as though his mind controlled her hands. In the instant before they struck _Voyager_'s shields, the shuttle's path shifted subtly and sent them skimming along the surface of the shields, tracing the arc of its outer boundary, and down under _Voyager_'s belly. With little warning, Paris commanded her to bring the shuttle to a full, heart rending stop. 

"Drop them now, Harry." Paris snapped. 

"We've got you," Kim's voice echoed the relief pounding through Kes in time to the beat of her heart. "The Kazon didn't quite make that last turn. He hit the shields at just the right angle and bounced off into space." 

"I know." Paris answered. 

Kes turned in time to catch his characteristically cocky grin. 

"And the other Kazon?" 

"Breaking off their attack and pulling back." Kim answered. "We'll have time to get you on board. Shuttle bay doors are open." 

"That was an interesting maneuver, Mr. Paris." This time it was Captain Janeway's voice. 

"Why thank you, Captain. Couldn't have done it without Kes." " 

"And tell me, Mr. Paris," Janeway added, "did you also make a habit of skipping stones when you were a child?" 

Kes did not miss the pride hidden in the Captain's amused query. 

"Only in the reflecting pool in front of Starfleet Headquarters." 

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Janeway concluded. 

"Captain," Paris spoke again. "The other landing parties?" 

"Were safely recovered from the planet's surface before the Kazon, or the storm struck. The only ones we missed were you, Kes and Melchor. I assume you three ready to come home now?" 

Kes glanced at Tom, his face once again unreadable as he briefly updated his commanding officer on the situation. "There are only two of us, Captain. Melchor was left behind on the planet's surface. He has apparently gone over to the Kazon." 

There was a long, unbroken silence. Kes could imagine Janeway's reaction, see the look on her face. She would be bitterly disappointed about Melchor, as she had been Seska and then Jonas defected. The Captain felt personally responsible for all of her crew members and each death, each defection, hurt more than she allowed the rest of the crew to realize. 

"He wasn't dead, Captain," Paris continued. "But we weren't able to bring him out with us. Not if we were to escape with the shuttle intact." 

"I will expect a full report as soon as you and Kes are on board, Mr. Paris. So that we can decide what action is to be taken. In the meantime, we're glad you're back safely." 

"Captain," Kes, chimed in, "please inform the Doctor that Tom has been injured and will require medical assistance." 

"Do you want us to tractor you in and beam you directly to Sick Bay." The Captain's voice echoed her concern. 

"No, Captain," Paris answered quickly. "No need." He nodded at Kes. "We can land on our own. We're in good hands. Paris out." 

Paris leaned back, and breathed a deep sigh. For a moment Kes thought he had passed out. 

"Tom. Tom, are you all right." 

"Yeah." He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Let's go home, Kes." 

end>   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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